


Birthright

by zathara001



Category: New Teen Titans, Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-31 03:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13966437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zathara001/pseuds/zathara001
Summary: Dick's got a problem -- well into his fifties, he still looks 25.  What's a detective to do?





	1. Gotham

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on FF.net back in 2010. I'm posting it here as part of my ongoing (if sporadic) effort to get all of my work on both sites.
> 
> As always, all rights in this work are hereby given to the copyright owners.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

 

Tim Drake's question made Dick Grayson smile. In that moment, the forty-something man standing across the room from him sounded like the teenager he'd been when Dick first met him.

 

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dick countered. "It's his house."

 

"Yours as much as his," Tim said. "And you're the oldest. It should be yours."

 

Dick looked around Wayne Manor's study. Not much had changed since he'd first arrived as a boy not yet ten, grieving the senseless murder of his parents. The same mahogany desk sat at one end of the room. The same cut crystal decanters were displayed on the credenza behind the desk. The same leather-bound books lined the interior wall. The brocade drapes framing the giant windows had been replaced with drapery of a similar color.

 

In fact, Dick thought as he perused the room, the biggest thing that had changed was the portrait that hung on the wall opposite the desk, where whoever sat at the desk could see it. When he'd first arrived, that portrait had been of Bruce's parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne. Now, Dick's own face stared back at him from pride of place, flanked by Tim's face and the face of the subject of their discussion, Damian Wayne, Bruce's only biological child.

 

"So what if Damian's his biologically? Nobody doubts you're his son as much as Damian."

 

"So're you, Timmy," Dick said, hiding his grin when the younger man grimaced at the nickname. "All three of us, sons of Bruce and Batman."

 

"That's my point. Why does he get the house, just because he's got Bruce's DNA?"

 

"Because I don't want it." Dick smiled at Tim's astonished expression. "It really is that simple, Tim. If I wanted it, I'd fight for it, and I'd win."

 

"But there's so much history here -- so much of your life."

 

"Not mine so much as Bruce's. I've thought about it a lot, and this place belongs in Bruce's family -- Bruce's family, not Batman's family. Damian's more the 'Wayne heir' than I am. I play the part when I have to. He lives it. Besides, what better wedding gift can I give him?"

 

"Does that mean you're not coming to the wedding?" The acerbic voice from the doorway made Dick and Tim turn to see Damian Wayne lounging against the doorframe.

 

"Wouldn't miss it," Dick answered easily.

 

"Huh." Damian came into the room, his gaze glancing to the portrait of the three men, then back to Dick. "You look the same as always."

 

"You've gone over the contract?" Dick preferred not to get too personal with Damian, even after all these years. The two of them had just never clicked the way he and Tim had. Maybe, Dick thought, it had something to do with the circumstances of their initial meeting.

 

"My lawyers have," Damian answered, bringing Dick's thoughts back to the present. "And they say it looks good."

 

Dick allowed himself a small smile. "My lawyers are as good as yours."

 

Beside him, Tim gave an exaggerated sigh. "For men who are effectively brothers, you sure don't trust each other much."

 

"We understand each other," Dick said.

 

"And respect each other," Damian added. Dick felt an eyebrow lift. Damian gave him a wry grin. "Did you expect otherwise?"

 

"I wasn't sure you'd admit it. You're a lot like him that way," Dick said.

 

Tim snorted. "You're both more like him than you want to admit. Which leads to the question, what am I doing here? You don't need me for this."

 

"And I already signed the contract," Damian added. "So why am I here?"

 

"Call me sentimental," Dick said. "But I have something to tell you, and this seemed like the best place."

 

"What's going on, Dick?" Tim asked. "This kind of cloak and dagger stuff isn't you."

 

"This is where it started for me," Dick said. "Technically, in the cave, but it started here. It's fitting that it end here, too."

 

"End?" Tim and Damian spoke at the same time, and Dick concealed a grin at their almost identical expressions of astonishment.

 

"At least for now," Dick said. "I'm taking a leave of absence."

 

"From what?" Tim asked. "Wayne Enterprises? It's not like you do anything for them anyway."

 

"From life."

 

"You're not making any sense, Grayson," Damian snapped.

 

"If you'd quit interrupting --" Dick glared at each of the younger men in turn, and in turn they nodded agreement. Dick took a breath and began, "I have some personal business I've been putting off. There was always another bad guy to catch, another person to save. You know how it is." Again his companions nodded. "Lately, though, it's looming larger in front of me, and I'm not going to put it off any longer. So I'm taking a while to sort it through."

 

"How long?" Tim asked.

 

"As long as it takes," Dick said. "Maybe a year, maybe less, maybe more. I may not be available much while I'm gone."

 

"When are you leaving?"

 

Was it Dick's imagination, or did Damian sound ever-so-slightly enthusiastic at the prospect? Dick pushed the thought aside. "After the wedding. I just -- you guys are the only family I have left, and I wanted you to know."

 

His brothers in all but blood stared at him in silence, and Dick quirked a grin. "C'mon. You can't tell me you're not itching to get out from under the last remnants of the bat-cape."

 

"You were never Batman, Dick. Even when you wore the cowl." Tim's tone held a gravity Dick rarely heard. The younger man paused, and Dick met his gaze without blinking. "You're sure about this, aren't you?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Good luck." Tim offered his hand. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

 

Dick took the other man's hand and pulled him into a brief, one-armed hug. "Thanks, bro. Take care of yourself and the family, okay?"

 

"What about your seat on the board?" Damian asked. Dick turned to answer, and his breath caught. For a moment, Dick felt as though he were staring at a younger Bruce. If there had ever been a question as to Damian's paternity, it was answered in the steely gaze Damian leveled at him now.

 

"I've named a proxy." Dick hadn't been able to convince Bruce to leave him entirely out of Wayne Enterprises, but at least Bruce had only left him a permanent seat on the board of directors. There'd been legal battles after Bruce's death, but ultimately his will had prevailed, as it always did, and Dick found himself dealing with more of the business than he'd ever wanted to.

 

"Anybody I know?" Dick could read the predatory interest in Damian's expression -- apparently, Damian hoped that Dick's proxy might be more malleable than he'd been.

 

"Clark," Dick answered and had the momentary satisfaction of watching disappointment flicker across Damian's face before turning to Tim. "I would've named you, but you have enough going on already."

 

"Yeah, Cass would kill me if I took on more responsibility there. Being head of R&D is plenty, thanks. Keep in touch?"

 

"I will, when I can." It was all Dick could say. There were too many choices, too many unknowns, ahead of him to promise more. "Don't look so glum, guys. I'm not leaving right now."

 

With an almost visible effort, Tim straightened and grinned. "You wouldn't leave without a last sparring session, would you?"

 

"Course not," Dick grinned back. "Assuming you can keep up with me."

 

=X=

 

Dick strode into the penthouse atop Wayne Tower, tossing his jacket over the coat rack just inside the door. Maybe he'd told Tim and Damian about his plans too soon, but it felt good to be honest with them.

 

Mostly honest, Dick amended mentally as he started down the hallway toward the kitchen. They wouldn't understand the real reasons he needed to disappear, nor would they just let him go if they knew it all. Still, it hurt to lie to his last remaining family. Maybe he could send them a letter the day he left, telling them the truth that way.

 

He turned into the kitchen and didn't even blink at the blonde woman perched on the counter, eating leftover Chinese takeout. Karen Mulhall had been his personal assistant since before Alfred had died, and she had free reign over all of his life in much the same way Alfred had ruled Bruce's.

 

"I hope you left the moo goo gai pan for me."

 

"Only because I like the birthday present you're getting me this year."

 

Dick opened the fridge, looked inside and found the other takeout container. "What am I getting you this year?"

 

"Tickets to a concert."

 

"That doesn't sound like much."

 

"In England."

 

"I hope I included the airfare and hotel accommodations." Dick grabbed a fork from the drawer and matched her pose.

 

"You also let me use your name to secure reservations at the most exclusive restaurant in London."

 

"I'm a very generous boss. Happy birthday, come September."

 

"Thank you." Karen set the remains of the meal aside. "Your test results came back today."

 

"What did they say?" Dick felt his pulse start to race as though he were about to face fifteen-to-one odds on the street. He willed himself to chew his moo goo gai pan slowly and thoroughly while he waited for Karen's response.

 

"You, my friend, are healthier than a horse."

 

"I know that. I want to know why."

 

"There's absolutely nothing abnormal about any of your results, other than a lack of deteriorating cells and telomeres that would be expected at your age."

 

"And given my lifestyle." Throwing himself into knife and gun fights with only his body and his wits as counter-weapons couldn't be good for anyone's longevity.

 

"Mm… maybe. The point is that your cells aren't wearing out normally. Not the natural wearing out that we expect over time, nor traumatic changes from what you do as Nightwing. You're just -- not aging."

 

"That would explain the lack of scarring, too," Dick mused.

 

"It _could_. We just don't know enough yet, even with the bleeding-edge research at WayneTech Biosciences, S.T.A.R. Labs, and other places, to begin to explain all the vagaries of the human body."

 

"So no guesses as to why I'm still healing like I did when I was ten?"

 

"A very bizarre form of Peter Pan Syndrome?"

 

Dick snorted around a mouthful of chicken. "No useful guesses?"

 

"Mutation, maybe. Or a side effect from some of those off-world adventures, or encounters with aliens." Karen set aside her empty takeout container. "In other words, nobody has a clue. Tests give results, not analysis, and the scientists doing the analysis can't explain it based on the test results. You'd have to go in for tests yourself for them even to begin to have a clue."

 

"No."

 

"Then no useful guesses is the best you'll get. At least from the scientists."

 

Dick nodded acknowledgment. He hadn't really expected any breakthrough insights from a few blood and DNA tests, but they had been the reasonable place to begin his search for answers. Now it was time to try a few unreasonable places.

 

He reached for his phone, thumbed in a number that hadn't changed in decades. Moments later, he heard Clark Kent's familiar voice in his ear. "What's up, Dick?"

 

"Can you come down here when you have a few minutes? I need to talk to you about something, and it's best done in private."

 

"Are you free now?"

 

"Sure."

 

"I'll be there in three."

 

"See you in three." Dick ended the call.

 

"Three -- minutes?" Karen didn't bother to wait for an answer, instead whisking the empty takeout cartons into the trash and rinsing their utensils before tossing them into the dishwasher. "Should I start coffee?"

 

"Not yet," Dick said. "It may not take long."

 

Back when he still wore a yellow cape and pixie boots, Dick would time Clark whenever the man from Krypton gave a time estimate and then announce gleefully, "You're ten seconds early!" Or, "You were off by five seconds."

 

Clark, his red cape still settling after a super-speed flight, would laugh. "I'll try to be more accurate next time." Dick would grin, and they'd get down to whatever business had brought Bruce and Clark together that time.

 

So when the knock came on his door, Dick instinctively glanced at the clock. "Only two seconds off this time," he muttered as Karen went to let their visitor in.

 

He heard Clark's polite greetings, and a moment later Clark filled the penthouse's small kitchen, one hand extended. "Good to see you again."

 

"And you." Dick shook the other man's hand. "How's Lois?"

 

"Feisty as ever." Clark grinned, but sadness lurked in his eyes. Dick understood.

 

Unlike Bruce, Lois hadn't fallen victim to a villain's plot. Instead, she succumbed to age slowly, fighting it all the way. It was some comfort, Clark had once confided to Dick, that he could X-ray her at a moment's notice with no significant radiation. Any cancer or other disease would be caught before it had a chance to take root. But age wasn't a disease, and there was nothing even the Man of Steel could do to stop it.

 

"So what's up?" Clark's question effectively cut off that thread of conversation. Dick understood that, too.

 

"I have a problem and I'm hoping you can help."

 

"If I can," Clark said. "What's the problem?"

 

"I'm not aging." Dick saw the surprise in the other man's eyes, read the question before Clark could speak. "Go ahead, use your X-ray vision to confirm it."

 

It was barely fifteen seconds before Clark said, "Amazing. No cellular degeneration."

 

"No gray hair," Dick added. "No scars, no loss of strength, no arthritis or osteoporosis. Despite the lifestyle. And I still heal as quickly as I did when I was a kid."

 

"How's that possible?"

 

"I don't know, and that's the favor. I've sent DNA samples to the top labs in the country, and nobody has an explanation for it. So it's time to start looking elsewhere." Dick let out a breath. "I wondered if you could contact Dr. Fate."

 

Clark shook his head, immediate and final. "Fate left Earth years ago -- decades -- and he hasn't come back."

 

"You're not exactly ground-bound yourself."

 

A grin flickered across Clark's face and was gone in a heartbeat. "No, but space is bigger than you think. He won't be found unless he wants to be found."

 

Dick swore under his breath. When science failed, it was time to turn to magic, and Fate knew more about magic than any of the rest of them -- to hear some people tell it, Fate _was_ magic, a living embodiment of magical forces -- and was naturally the best place to begin his quest.

 

"There are other sorcerers." Karen's quiet voice seemed almost too loud in the silence of his frustration.

 

"None I trust as much," Dick replied.

 

Clark chuckled. "You sounded like Bruce for a second -- only he wouldn't have qualified it."

 

Dick winced. Bruce's paranoia had been by turns frustrating, amusing, annoying, and ultimately justified, but Dick had never wanted to share it. Apparently some of it had rubbed off despite his resolve.

 

"But --" Clark was serious again "-- those other sorcerers are all on Earth. You don't need my help to contact them."

 

Dick recognized the comment for what it was -- Clark's polite way of saying, "Can I go now?"

 

"True enough. Hello to Lois, and I'll see you soon."

 

Clark started to turn toward the door, then paused. "Dick -- if it had to happen to someone, I'm -- not sorry it's you."

 

Again, Dick heard the words Clark didn't say: "But I wish it had been Lois instead."

 

Unwilling to let the moment turn maudlin, Dick summoned a grin that was almost genuine. "Thanks, Clark, but you know you're not my type."

 

That surprised a laugh from Clark, and then the Man of Steel was gone.

 

"You were right -- it didn't take long," Karen said. "I'll pull up the files we have on the sorcerers, and we can decide who to talk to --"

 

"I already know who I'll talk to."

 

"Then why did you call him?" The biggest difference between Karen and Alfred, Dick thought, was that her tone always conveyed exactly how she felt. Just now, she sounded exasperated.

 

"I said I know who I'll talk to. I didn't say I'm looking forward to it."

 

=X=

 

In all the years he'd known and worked with Zatanna, Dick had never been to her home. She'd come to the cave many times to assist with a case and occasionally spent a night with Bruce, though Dick wasn't supposed to know that. But Bruce had never, to Dick's knowledge, visited her and, therefore, neither had he. Now Dick was asking her for a favor, and it was only right that he come to her.

 

He shouldn't have been surprised that she lived in a modest home in an unremarkable neighborhood. Magical and psychic work required privacy, and sometimes privacy meant being unremarked as opposed to unavailable.

 

Dick rang the doorbell and the faint sound of chimes carried through the mahogany door. He smiled. No harsh mechanical sounds for Zatanna -- in fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't rigged something magical so that wind actually stirred chimes somewhere deep in the house.

 

Moments later, the door swung open and Zatanna stood framed in the doorway. She'd given up fishnet stockings and top hats years ago in favor of all-natural fibers and simply-cut dresses. Her hair now gleamed more platinum than sable, and her blue eyes, as sharp and piercing as ever, were still youthfully bright.

 

"Right on time," she observed. "Though I'd expect nothing less from you."

 

"I try not to abuse your time. Or your patience."

 

Zatanna made a wry face. "Those aren't what you're likely to abuse."

 

Before Dick could figure out what she meant and form a reply, she gestured him inside. He stepped into a large entry that might have been part of the original floor plan. To his left a pair of wingback chairs upholstered in a velvety blue-green flanked a square table covered in black silk. A small cabinet hung on one wall, and Zatanna sat in the chair nearest it, indicating that he should take the seat opposite her.

 

"What brings you here?"

 

"I need answers that science hasn't been able to provide."

 

Zatanna raised an eyebrow, and Dick quickly summarized the situation, including the tests he'd gone through and their results, and the lack of answers he had, concluding with, "I came to you in the hope that somewhere in your studies and knowledge, you might have ideas that are escaping me."

 

"Not much escapes you." Zatanna opened the cabinet next to her, withdrew a deck of cards, and idly began shuffling them while she spoke. "In some ways, you're a better detective than Batman was."

 

"Thank you for the compliment, but in this case, I'm stumped. I hoped you'd read for me, see what magical forces might be at work, if any."

 

Dick's years working alongside first Lilith and then Raven in the Titans, plus his occasional work with Doctor Fate, the Spectre, and even Zatanna, had taught him to respect the metaphysical realms and the things that inhabited them.

 

Still, he'd never be as comfortable with the metaphysical realms as he was in the solid world of crimes and evidence, and he'd thought long and hard first about asking for Doctor Fate's help and this visit to Zatanna. Now, his decision made, he shifted his mental focus as he'd learned to do so many years before, allowing himself to be open to whatever might come.

 

Opposite him, Zatanna continued to shuffle the cards she held in what appeared to be an offhand manner. One card slipped from her hands, falling face-down onto the table. She ignored it and continued to sift through the cards she held, her expression distant, as though she were listening to something he couldn't hear. Perhaps, he thought, she was.

 

"No."

 

Dick blinked. Whatever he thought he'd been prepared for, that wasn't it. "No?"

 

Zatanna gave him a small smile, full of sympathy. "You're not ready to hear what they have to say."

 

Dick just raised an eyebrow at her -- a tactic and expression he'd learned from Bruce. "Most people are uncomfortable with silence," Bruce had said. "They'll rush to fill it if it lingers, and when they do, listen carefully. You might just strike gold."

 

Zatanna, however, simply raised an eyebrow back at him. "Please. Do you think I didn't learn that from the master, too?"

 

Dick matched her grin. "Okay, let's be direct. Why do you think I'm not ready to hear what you have to say?"

 

"Because you do best when you find the answers yourself, rather than having them handed to you. You're trying to be open-minded and accepting, but when the answer isn't what you expect, nor what you want, nor something that can be immediately and obviously deduced, you will shut down, and shut out a truth you don't want to face. Oh, you'll accept it eventually, but it will take longer and be more difficult on you than if you simply figure it out yourself."

 

"That's the most tactful way anyone's ever called me stubborn, but it doesn't give me a place to begin an investigation." Dick kept his tone even, not allowing a hint of the frustration he felt to bleed through. Every case had a starting point from which all other evidence and information flowed -- except this one. All he needed was that point, that sliver of a whisper of a thought, and he would be off and running. That point, however, eluded him.

 

Zatanna studied the cards in her hands for a long moment, then looked up at him. "A full reading may be too much, but perhaps ...."

 

She pulled a card, seemingly at random from the deck and glanced at it before turning it so he could see the image it contained: a man, seated on a throne, a sword in his hand. The caption on the card read "King of Swords."

 

"This," Zatanna said quietly, "is what you are. It holds you back."

 

She appeared to expect some acknowledgement, but all he could do was nod. King of Swords.

 

Zatanna lay the card on the table, then reached for the one that had fallen face down while she was shuffling and glanced at it. The image made her smile -- a Mona Lisa smile, Dick thought, and she said, "This is what you must become to move forward."

 

She turned the card to face him, and surprise rippled through him. The Fool?

 

=X=

 

Dick's knowledge of the tarot was spotty at the best of times. His only exposure to the cards had been when criminals had left them as clues or evidence, and he wouldn't consider the associations made by the criminally insane as anywhere approaching definitive definitions.

 

So he made a stop on the way home to pick up a deck -- an indulgence, when images of all the cards were freely available online, but one that felt right. He'd always been more tactile than Bruce, and being able to hold the cards while he studied their meanings would help him retain the information better.

 

Once he was back in the penthouse, soda at his elbow, Dick turned on his computer and opened up three separate search engines. Moments later, he had opened three different sites with meanings for the King of Swords.

 

Dick rifled through his cards, pulled out the subject of his initial inquiry and studied the image again. It was different than Zatanna's deck -- this king stood in a battle-ready pose, sword drawn. Dick thought it a more accurate depiction of a sword-king than the seated figure on Zatanna's card.

 

The card, he read, represented intellectual and analytical abilities -- someone comfortable with logic -- as well as someone fair, just and ethical. Dick couldn't argue with it as a definition of himself, as Zatanna had asserted. He'd spent a lifetime developing those traits under Bruce's tutelage…

 

Bruce also was the King of Swords, Dick thought. In fact, in the beginning, Bruce had been King to Dick's -- he sorted the cards and pulled out another from the deck -- to Dick's Knight of Swords. With Bruce's passing, Dick had inherited Bruce's seniority in the card rankings, if not his cape and cowl.

 

So that's what was holding him back, in Zatanna's opinion. Dick looked at the King and Knight again. Maybe, given his apparent youth, the Knight was still more accurate. He wanted to think so.

 

He set those two cards aside and pulled out the one Zatanna had said he must become -- the Fool.

 

What did it say about him that the idea rankled?

 

_Maybe that I'm far too much the King of Swords._

 

It was the King, using Bruce's voice, who reminded him not to pre-judge the card based on his automatic associations, so he brought up meanings for the Fool on the same sites he'd used to search the King of Swords.

 

Dick breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw that the meanings for the Fool were less about acting foolishly -- and a good thing, given that the character on the card was about to walk off a cliff, unaware thanks to concentrating on the flute he played -- than about beginnings and spontaneity and following your heart.

 

Dick looked at the image again. The brightly-colored harlequin leggings and the streamers floating from the youth's backpack reminded him of his earliest days at Haly Circus. He'd been more like the Fool, then, before his parents were killed.

 

He closed his eyes, tried to relax and allow memory to surface. There was laughter with his parents and the other circus performers and crew. There was taking time off during the day to go explore wherever they happened to be stopped. There were moments of life, not a plan of life carefully laid out.

 

When had he lost that?

 

There were some, the King's logic pointed out, who would say he'd never lost it. _Just look at you, jumping from twenty or thirty story buildings, wisecracking your way through fights, and taking on metahumans twice your size with nothing but brains and a few weapons, not even a Kevlar uniform like Bruce had worn._

 

But he had lost it. Dick felt that certainty weighing him down. He'd subsumed his spontaneity beneath the logic and cool reason of the King who'd taught him and molded him into the man he'd become.

 

At first, he'd been grieving his parents. That was only natural, only right. Nobody could be spontaneous and full of life when grief weighed them down. Then -- Dick felt his eyebrows drawing together, took a deep breath and went deeper into relaxation -- then he'd seen Wayne Manor as one giant playground, where sliding down the banister was the most efficient route from second floor to ground floor, and where a leap from the balcony to the chandelier and then a quadruple somersault into a perfect two-point landing was just fun.

 

Even if it had nearly given Alfred a heart attack the first time he'd done it. _Sorry for all those gray hairs, Alfred,_ Dick thought. Maybe somewhere, the butler's spirit heard him.

 

So he'd kept that joie de vivre even after he'd come to Wayne Manor. Dick spooled his memories forward. He'd kept it even when he first put on the yellow cape and pixie boots, he realized, though he'd channeled it into mile-a-minute chatter and the worst puns anyone had ever heard. A necessary defense, Dick realized now -- to prevent himself becoming a younger version of the grim dark knight, Batman.

 

All of which might be interesting, but Dick couldn't see how it was possibly getting him closer to why he wasn't aging. He tossed the card he held onto his desk in frustration and rose to pace the office, barely registering the view of Robinson Park and the reservoir beyond it.

 

He paced the length of the wall of windows, then returned to his desk via a series of backflips, then along the wall with standing forward flips, and back once again via backward somersaults, and still he had no idea how the cards were supposed to be answering his question.

 

Zatanna's words echoed in his mind. _This is what you must become to move forward._

 

Maybe he was taking it too literally, Dick realized. Maybe he wasn't supposed to become a fool per se, but instead maybe the card was suggesting he revisit his beginning.

 

That would at least give him something to do, he thought with wry amusement. And he'd approach this task as if it were a crime to be solved -- thoroughly, starting with his earliest beginning and working through each one he'd ever had.

 

=X=

 

The sounds and smells of the circus never changed. Dick paused at the entrance, inhaling the scent of sawdust and animals and a hint of cotton candy that must've been just a memory, since the first performance of the season was still a month away.

 

His first stop was where it always was -- the animal enclosures. More specifically…

 

"Hi, Elinore." Dick reached up to scratch the trunk of the elephant he'd known all his life. She was past sixty years old now, but unlike many humans that age, her memory was still sharp. Elinore wrapped her trunk around Dick's shoulder in her version of a hug. He dug into his pocket and withdrew a handful of grapes for her. The circus kept her well fed, but the grapes were a treat she ate eagerly.

 

It was just another oddity of his life, Dick decided, that one of his oldest friends was an elephant. Elinore might not be the best at conversation, but she'd been the one he sought out after his parents were killed, while Bruce and Pop Haly and the child welfare people were arguing over his fate. He'd spent the time scrubbing Elinore cleaner than she'd ever been, talking to her, enjoying the silent comfort of her presence. And when he'd left with Bruce, Elinore was the one he'd hugged the hardest.

 

"Oh, to have the Wayne fortune at my disposal, so I could afford a plastic surgeon that good." The woman's observation was only mildly sarcastic, and Dick turned to smile at Lorinda Rawlings, once an equestrian performer and now co-owner and manager of Haly Circus.

 

"Not that I'd want to get it how you did," she added, "but damn at the perks."

 

"Still as fit and beautiful as ever." Dick hugged her warmly. "You don't need a plastic surgeon."

 

"You make a lousy mirror, Dickie, but thanks for saying it." The lines in her face disappeared into her smile. "What brings you here before the season starts?"

 

"I wanted to look around the wagon a while."

 

Lorinda pursed her lips. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

 

"Why wouldn't it be? Nothing's happened to it, has it?" He tried to quell the momentary panic that welled within him with calm reason. Nothing had happened to his parents' wagon. He would've known. Lorinda would've told him -- wouldn't she?

 

And now Lorinda was shaking her head, which did more to calm the panic than all the logic in the world.

 

"No, it's fine. But -- Dick, it's not healthy. I know you loved your parents. Everybody did. But it's been a very long time, and you have to let it go."

 

"What?" Dick stared at her, caught between being grateful that she cared and angry that she thought he was somehow stuck in the past. That was Bruce's hangup, not his.

 

"It was horrible, their deaths, but look at everything good that's come after that. Don't -- don't fixate like this. You've had so much good in your life, you shouldn't focus on this one moment of evil."

 

"Lorinda." Dick cut her off gently. "It's not like that. Honest." He searched for words, found the ones he'd used on his brother Robins a few days before. "I'm just going away for a while, and I wanted to see the place again before I go."

 

She searched his face, then nodded, apparently satisfied for the moment. "Where are you off to, this time?"

 

"I'm not really sure." Wherever the clues led him, but Dick couldn't tell her that.

 

Lorinda laughed. "Romany blood breeds true, I guess."

 

"I suppose." Dick hadn't thought about that part of his heritage in years, decades. But it was a good enough explanation to satisfy Lorinda, and that was all he really wanted for now.

 

"You still have your key? What am I saying, of course you do. Go on and do what you came for. Just say bye before you leave."

 

"I will." This would be the last time he visited. He hadn't planned for it to be, but it would be. Strangely, that certainty wasn't painful -- just sad. One more loss to grieve.

 

"I'll say goodbye to you, too," Dick told Elinore as Lorinda walked away. "But I'll visit again. You don't care if I wear the mask when I do. And you'll probably be awake at three a.m., too."

 

With a last scratch to Elinore's trunk, Dick turned toward the wagon where he'd spent the first eleven years of his life. In a gesture that had spoken more clearly than any words they might've shared, Bruce had arranged for the wagon with "The Flying Graysons" emblazoned in red and gold to be stored in what had been the carriage house at Wayne Manor. Dick visited it often during his first few months with Bruce, then less and less as the grief faded.

 

When Haly Circus took on a semi-permanent home outside Gotham, the wagon became a combination memorial to his parents and static display of how circus performers lived. The popularity of the exhibit continued to surprise him, and Dick gave silent thanks to whomever might be listening that the wagon was still intact and almost unchanged since the night his parents died. It meant he had a starting point.

 

Dick unlocked the wagon -- really more like an enclosed trailer -- that his father had towed behind their truck from town to town, show to show, and paused in the doorway as memory flooded through him.

 

Their mobile lifestyle, not to mention their Romany blood, meant they'd never acquired a lot of the trappings of modern life, but Dick had never felt deprived, not even after he'd seen the opulence of Wayne Manor. In fact, though he'd never told Bruce, the vast expanse of the manor, the dozens of rooms, had made him yearn for the cozy quarters of the wagon. Now, as an adult, Dick found the wagon more cramped than cozy, but it was still home in a way that Wayne Manor had never become.

 

There was the banquette dining table where he'd spent hours with his father learning card tricks from Easy Eights to Three-Card Monte and others known by too many names to list. His mother had sometimes joined in, playing either the mark or a shill. Other times, she'd read, or -- or --

 

Dick frowned and closed his eyes, breathing in and out to relax and encourage the memory to form in his mind.

 

_His father, dark-haired and swarthy but with a ready smile, sat at the table. "Watch closely, Dickie, see if you can spot how the trick is done."_

 

_"Now, John, are you sure? He's only five."_

_"The sooner he starts, the better he'll be. Okay, watch now…" And Dick watched as his father dealt the cards, his mother fading from his awareness while she … wrote in a book?_

 

His mother had kept a diary? Why hadn't he seen it since their deaths? Dick breathed in and out again, summoning techniques he'd learned from Bruce so he could slip deeper into trance-memory.

 

_While his father dealt the cards again and again, finally handing the deck to him so he could try to duplicate the trick, his mother sat quietly, watching thoughtfully and only occasionally jotting a note into the leather-bound book open on the table in front of her._

 

What had happened to the book? That was the question Dick focused on, but memory had no information for him. Years of training brought him into the wagon and had him sitting where his mother had often sat. He placed his hand on the table where the diary had rested.

 

The diary had obviously been important to his mother, though Dick didn't remember it. Had she destroyed it, sometime after that memory? Or had she simply hidden it?

 

If he assumed she'd destroyed it, he'd never find it. So his initial assumption would be that she'd hidden it from a young, energetic, and inquisitive child. Which meant she would have wanted someplace her son wouldn't have thought to look, and preferably someplace she could access easily that her son wouldn't pay attention to -- and possibly not her husband, either.

 

Dick ruled out the tiny kitchenette immediately. Between cooking, cleaning up, and getting snacks at odd hours, there'd been far too much activity in that cramped space to allow for hiding anything. Perhaps their bed?

 

 _Stop it,_ he told himself. _Orderly, or you'll miss something. Maybe a lot of somethings._

 

 _Orderly -- and thorough._ Dick could be both. He'd learned to be both from the master, and added a few twists of his own. So he made a complete circuit of the wagon, taking his time and searching every cabinet and drawer, every piece of furniture.

 

When he returned to the banquette sans journal, Dick couldn't help the disappointment that swept through him. He'd been so certain that he'd find something here, and the flash of memory suggested the diary contained the clue he sought.

 

He'd allowed hope and fantasy to cloud his judgment. Dick rested his hands on the table and let his head fall forward. Bruce would never have tolerated such sloppy thinking, and it was impossible not to hear Bruce's voice chastising him for the error.

 

Still, Dick couldn't resist making another circuit of the wagon. His gut insisted there was something to be found here, and he wouldn't stop until he found it.

 

When he remained empty-handed at the end of his second circuit, Dick sank again onto the bench where his mother had sat so many years before. Could his gut have been wrong? He didn't like thinking that. His gut had saved him too many times for him to want to believe it betrayed him now.

 

Dick drummed his fingers on the table, unable to shake the feeling that he'd missed something. But what? He'd made two complete circuits of the wagon, searched every drawer, every cabinet, every cushion, including the one on the bench he now sat on.

 

He shifted position and his foot kicked the base of the bench opposite him. The banquette hadn't seemed so cramped when he was ten, even with his father on one side and his mother on the other, and himself cozy against one or the other.

 

Only then did the hollow thunk of his foot's impact register in his awareness, and he frowned. He'd removed the bench cushions on his circuits, expecting to find some kind of storage underneath. When there wasn't an obvious lid to the space, he'd assumed the bench supports were structural and moved on.

 

 _You know what they say about assuming._ Dick squirmed his way under the table. Doing so was much easier when he was ten, but in moments he found himself crouched under the table between the benches. He ran his fingers over the wood, lightly exploring every centimeter.

 

He found it sooner than he'd expected -- a slight imperfection in the wood. Dick pressed it from several angles, and on his downward push, he heard the tiniest click and a panel slid open. A penlight from his pocket assured him there were no poisonous things in the small space behind the panel. There was, however, a leather-bound book.

 

Dick's heart revved, and he forced himself to finish searching the entire cubbyhole where he crouched. If there was one hidden compartment, there might be another.

 

Sure enough, he found a similar panel on the opposite side of the banquette, his father's side. That one was empty, however, and Dick closed the two panels and wiggled out from under the table, his mother's journal held carefully in one hand.

 

Through force of will alone, Dick brushed the dust from the cover and put the journal into the inside pocket of his jacket. As much as he wanted to read it now, he knew that once he started, he'd lose all track of time. Better to be safe at home before he indulged in such work.

 

=X=

 

Night had fallen during his return from Haly Circus, and for once Gotham's criminal elements held no interest for him. Tonight, Damian and Tim could watch over Bruce's city. Tonight, Dick had more pressing matters to attend to. A pot of extra-strong coffee steaming beside him, Dick settled back in his recliner to read his mother's journal.

 

Half an hour later he'd barely read ten pages thanks to having to stop reading several times to blink tears out of his eyes. His mother began her journal with her wedding day -- thankfully, she hadn't chosen to share details of her wedding night; Dick didn't even want to imagine what reading that would've been like -- and continued irregularly through the first year of her life in the circus with his father, chronicling towns Haly Circus had played and events in the lives of the performers.

 

Then the tone of her entries changed. Dick almost missed the initial reference to wanting a child, casually noted along with the details of Sooze and Jacques' budding romance. Subsequent references were more blatant, and Dick frowned as the tone grew increasingly desperate. One entry almost broke his heart.

 

 _Please, I beg you -- any gods who might be listening --_ Please _send me a child._

 

That was the entire entry, and Dick could still make out tiny stains around the edges of the page, stains that marked where his mother's tears had fallen.

 

A month passed, with repetitions of Mary Grayson's desire for a child. Then Dick turned the page and smiled at the two words that filled the page: _I'm pregnant!!!!_

 

His mother's joy radiated from the page, even after all these years. Dick steeled himself for a day-to-day account of her pregnancy, but as he turned page after page, there were just the occasional notes interspersed with the rest of her life: _Felt it kick today,_ for one.   Then, _No more morning sickness, thankfully,_ followed by, _Finally agreed on names -- Richard John for a boy, and Amanda Mary for a girl._

 

And then came the page recording his birth -- date, time, length and weight. Dick smiled and moved to turn the page, frowned as he saw one more line of text at the bottom of that page.

 

Looking closer, Dick saw that it wasn't text so much as it was a string of symbols. Some symbols resembled hieroglyphics, and some resembled letters, but he had no idea what language they might be. He found a pen and notepad and carefully copied each symbol onto the paper.

 

That they were in fact symbols and not doodles Dick had no doubt. They were neat and orderly, precise in their arrangement. And -- he studied them more closely. He'd bet that they weren't in his mother's handwriting. That raised new questions. Who would know about her journal, and choose to leave an indecipherable message in it?

 

The translation might lead him to the person who'd written them. But first he'd have to translate them.

 

At times like this, he missed Barbara and her eidetic memory. All he'd have to do was show her the symbols, and if she'd ever seen them, she would've been able to tell him exactly what they were and maybe provide a translation. But she'd died a half-dozen years back thanks to complications from her paralysis, and Dick had never found anyone else with her skills that he could trust the way he'd trusted her.

 

He might not be able to call Barbara, but Dick could ask Karen to research the leading experts in ancient languages. With luck, one of them would recognize the symbols and their translation would point him in a new direction for his investigation.

 

=X=

 

Night was just beginning to fade into dawn when Dick let himself into the penthouse through the roof entrance. He'd been keeping later patrols since his visit to the circus three weeks ago, and was looking forward to peeling out of costume, showering away the stink of sweat and scum and sewer, having a bowl of cereal and then crawling into bed.

 

Dick secured the entrance behind him and quickly removed the mask and costume. Stretching, he opened the door to this concealed compartment and stepped out into his bedroom closet before padding barefoot and naked to the bathroom on the far side of the room.

 

"If you didn't pay me so well, I'd be selling pictures of this."

 

Dick grinned at Karen. "It'd be mostly silhouette against the windows, from that angle."

 

Karen didn't move from the chair where she sat. "Surely you've heard of fill-in flash photography? But the silhouette's pretty good, too, if you're into that sort of thing."

 

"Is there a reason you're camped in my bedroom before dawn?"

 

"The only group that keeps stranger hours than superheroes is academics. Of course, Berlin's six hours ahead of us, so it was a perfectly reasonable time for Professor Unger to call."

 

All thought of a shower, much less sleep, vanished as Dick's pulse leapt. "What did he say? Did he recognize it? Could he translate it?"

 

"You should be asking me if I could translate _him_. He speaks English, but the more excited he gets, the more pronounced his accent gets. And he was pretty excited."

 

"Why? What do the symbols mean?"

 

"He doesn't know."

 

Dick couldn't remember the last time it had taken him more than two seconds to find a reply to any conversational moment. This morning, it was fully ten seconds before he managed, "You camped in my bedroom to tell me … nothing?"

 

"If you were anyone but you, it would be nothing," Karen said.  "But you being the world's greatest detective and all, you can probably find something in it."

 

Dick instinctively recoiled from her description.  Bruce was the world's greatest detective; that hadn't changed with his death, no matter how much else had.  Karen just raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to object aloud.

 

Instead, he asked, "What's this nothing that might be something?"

 

"His initial reaction was to accuse us of some kind of fraud or hoax," Karen said.  "Once I confirmed our bona fides, I let the professor believe the inscription came from a collection of artifacts acquired on the black market."  Dick felt his own eyebrow lifting, and Karen glared back at him.  "You didn't expect me to tell him it came from your mother's journal, did you?"

 

"Probably not the best idea," Dick agreed, though the thought of being associated with any black market, however indirectly, sat uncomfortably in his mind.  "Go on."

 

"The condensed version is that it's a jumble of Linear B, Linear A, and a few symbols the professor's never seen before."

 

"So why can't he translate it?  Linear B is a form of proto-Greek writing, right?"

 

"Yes, but Linear A still hasn't been translated, and without that, he wouldn't know where to start on the unknown characters."

 

"It may be something, but it sounds an awful lot like nothing."  Dick controlled his disappointment.  It had been too much to expect that he'd get a clean, simple translation, he knew that, but still his heart had hoped.

 

"Professor Unger reminded me that many people believe Linear A to have been the written language of the Minoans, though of course that hasn't been proven.  On the basis of that belief, and given the palindromic nature of the inscription, he's quite comfortable saying that it is an actual alphabet.  If it's genuine, he says it's at least as old as Linear B."

 

How had his mother come to have a note in her journal written in an alphabet three thousand years old?  Had she ever even heard of Linear B?  The questions were starting to make his head hurt.

 

"Go take your shower," Karen told him.  "I'll make coffee and breakfast."

 

Dick nodded and turned back toward his bathroom, questions still chasing each other through his mind.

 

=X=

 

"I know what I'm going to do."  Dick strode into the kitchen where Karen was pouring pancake batter onto the griddle.

 

"Taking a shower works its magic again.  What are you going to do?"

 

Dick crossed to the coffeepot and poured a large mug full.  "I'm going to Themyscira."

 

Somewhere between shampooing and shaving, he'd thought of Donna Troy.  She might not know much about the origins of Greek writing, but he'd bet that some of her Amazon sisters did.  And, if he were honest with himself, he just wanted to see her again.  They'd been friends almost as long as he'd been in the superhero business, though she'd chosen to return home to Themyscira a decade or so before.

 

"Makes sense," Karen said after she flipped the pancakes.  "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

 

"It depends on what I learn there.  But everything's set up so you can run the place in my absence."

 

"Mm."  Karen stacked four pancakes on a plate and passed it to him.  "You are planning to come back, aren't you?"

 

"What makes you ask that?"  Dick barely caught himself before he poured too much maple syrup on the pancakes.

 

"Tim told me about the 'leave of absence' you announced."

 

"I told them a year, maybe more.  That's a long way from being never."

 

"And if you'd told them never, they would've fought you over it, even Damian.  You would've fought Bruce if he'd made that kind of announcement," Karen added, effectively cutting off the protest Dick was about to make.  "I won't fight you about it, and I'll keep up the fiction for them, but only if you tell me the truth."

 

Dick took a bite, chewed, swallowed.  Trust Karen to back him into a corner when no one else would.  He looked up at her and said simply, "I'll be back for the wedding next month. I don't know when I'll be back after that."

 

She studied him for a long moment, then took up her own pancakes.  "Not even going to estimate?"

 

"No."  He shoved his plate aside, rested his forearms on the bar.  "Call it a midlife crisis if you want to."

 

Karen snorted around a mouthful of pancake.  "Hardly a midlife crisis.  You've always liked fast cars and faster motorcycles, and you never liked fast women."

 

Dick chuckled with her.  "Okay, maybe not a traditional midlife crisis.  More like rethinking who I am and who I'm going to be now."

 

"Now what?  Now that you've realized you don't appear to be aging?  Most people would think that's a blessing, if only because it'll save a fortune on plastic surgery and anti-aging treatments."

 

"That might be part of it, but mostly it's that enough of the old ties, the old people, are gone that I don't have any anchors except those I make myself.  I'm debating which anchors to drop and which to hoist."

 

"That doesn't sound like the relentlessly cheerful Dick Grayson I know so well."

 

"You know I'm not always cheerful."

 

"So what's got you brooding now?"

 

Dick picked up his fork and took another bite of pancake. Karen had seen more of his soul than almost anyone else, had been by his side when first Barbara and then Bruce had died. Still, he found it difficult to say what was on his mind now.

 

"Dick?"

 

"Do you think I'll die if I don't age?" He blew the words out in one long breath. Part of him hoped she didn't understand them, so he'd have a chance to find something else to say.

 

Her thoughtful silence killed that hope. Finally, she said, "I think you don't have enough information to figure that out. It looks like you won't die of old age, but that's not the only cause of death out there."

 

"I'm not going to swallow a bullet to find out."

 

"Which just shows you have a healthy sense of self-preservation, despite your penchant for jumping off tall buildings."

 

"It was hard, watching the others die. I think it'll only get harder."

 

"And you have to decide whether you can stand that or not. Which is why you're taking the sabbatical."

 

"I don't need to be a detective to figure out you have more to say than that."

 

"Promise me you'll come back.  A year, ten years, however long it takes, but come back."

 

The intensity in Karen's voice and expression surprised him.  "Why?"

 

"Because we need you.  We, the average people out there."

 

"There are others --"

 

"Not like you.  You're more like the rest of us than Damian, who's following Bruce's model of silence and intimidation.  Or Clark, who'll always be not quite human, for all that he tries.  You're approachable and understandable, and for that alone, we need you."

 

Dick shifted on his stool, uncomfortable with her words.  "You make me sound like a symbol, not a person."

 

"Of course you're both.  But Damian and Clark are more symbol than person, at least in the public perception.  Most of the other heroes out there are more person than symbol.  You strike a balance between the two that nobody else has managed.  We need you, Dick."  Karen took a breath.  "So take the time you need.  Just come back when you're done."


	2. Themyscira

There were two keys to surviving the Bermuda Triangle.

 

First, a well-built aircraft. Dick checked the readouts for his course heading and made a slight adjustment. The latest generation of Batplane thrummed under his guidance, and he chuckled. No matter how many decades he'd been operating solo as Nightwing, no matter that he now used wingdings instead of batarangs and drove the Wingcycle instead of the Batmobile, the Batplane remained the Batplane through every incarnation. Dick wouldn't have it any other way.

 

Second, the presence of mind not to panic when the instruments went haywire, as they were about to do …

 

The proximity alarm sounded first, followed by the tone that in any other moment would tell him that someone else had locked weapons onto him. The altimeter needles spun, unable to settle on any reading, accurate or not.

 

Dick ignored them, and the other meaningless readouts on the display panel, instead enjoying the lightning storm outside the canopy. The first time he'd been to Themyscira, Dick hadn't known what to expect, and the savage beauty of the protections around it had been lost on him. Now he could enjoy it, even when the stick jumped in his hand and his stomach fell out from under him and the Batplane fell into a nosedive.

 

About this point, Dick mused, most pilots panicked and tried to save the plane from the crash landing they assumed was inevitable -- and made it inevitable in their attempt.

 

He, however, simply waited, his hands resting on the controls. In a few more seconds --

 

The lightning storm vanished, and Dick blinked against the sudden tropical sun. Then he was easing the Batplane out of its nosedive, coaxing it to respond. Finally, it settled back level, and once again he searched outside the canopy.

 

Themyscira lay ahead and slightly to his right, and he eased the Batplane into a gentle turn. White stone roofs glistened in the afternoon sun, and the occasional glimpse of color through the vegetation hinted at the brightly colored walls and mosaics lining the streets of the ancient city.

 

Even before Dick could fully take in the sight, he noted a speck rising from the city, aiming directly toward the Batplane. As the speck drew closer and resolved itself into the lithe figure of Donna Troy, Dick smiled. She was still as beautiful and strong as she was when they first met that long-ago afternoon in the Batcave. Her expression then had been full of wonder and delight, not determined as it was now, and he raised a hand to wave to her.

 

Donna stopped her approach, hovering as the Batplane swooped past her. Then she paced it, remaining just outside the cockpit. Dick saw her mouth his name. He nodded in response, and she smiled. Then she gestured for him to follow, and he guided the Batplane after her.

 

Two minutes later, Dick was shutting down the Batplane after a vertical landing in a clearing southwest of the city proper. As the last of the engine's whine died on the breeze, he deactivated the cockpit locks and the canopy slid back over his head. Donna floated beside him, clad in sandals and a … he searched his memory for the right word, found it … chiton that the breeze molded to her body.

 

"Sorry to drop in unannounced," Dick said, "but it's damn hard to call ahead to an island that doesn't get cell reception, much less satellite reception."

 

Donna threw her arms around him, cutting off whatever else he might've said, and he hugged her back. They'd shared so many hugs over the years that sometimes it seemed as if she belonged in his arms. Dick had never let himself think that thought before now, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

 

Later. He'd analyze that later. Now, Donna was pulling back, staring at him, her eyes shining with the smile that curved her mouth.

 

"It's so good to see you, Dick." She rested a palm against his cheek, studying him closely, and surprise tinged her voice when she added, "You haven't changed at all."

 

He'd have to discuss that with her, he knew. Later.

 

"You look -- better," he said, only realizing the truth of the words as he spoke. "Lighter than when I saw you last. Themyscira's been good to you."

 

The compliment pleased her, Dick saw, but she quickly turned serious. "Is there a crisis? Am I needed?"

 

"No, nothing like that."

 

"Then why are you here?"

 

"Partly because it's been too long since I've seen my best friend."

 

"And mostly because …?"

 

"I never could keep a secret from you," Dick grumbled half-heartedly. She just rolled her eyes, so he added, "I have a puzzle, and I think you or one of the other Amazons may be able to help. Permission to get out of the plane?"

 

"What?" Donna blinked, then looked around and chuckled. "Oh, of course. Sorry. I'm still surprised to see you. Happy, but surprised." And moreso, Dick thought, because he hadn't aged since he'd last seen her nearly twenty years before.

 

He stood and climbed over the edge of the cockpit, then reached in to retrieve the briefcase he'd brought before hopping down to land lightly beside her.

 

"Still the same uniform," she observed. "But -- no mask?"

 

"You and Diana already know who I am. Does anybody else on this island care?"

 

That made Donna laugh, as he'd intended. He'd come a long way from horrible puns, but he still had the urge to make the people he cared for laugh. He'd rarely succeeded with Bruce, but that never stopped him from trying. Others, like Donna, were less grim and laughed more easily, and their laughter always gave him hope. In their line of work, they needed all the laughter and hope they could get.

 

It was second nature to fall into step with her as they left the Batplane behind and turned toward the city.

 

Donna chatted as they walked, telling him about the local flora and fauna, the crops they would be harvesting soon, and throwing in some local gossip for good measure. A hundred steps toward the city, Dick realized she was nervous.

 

Why should she be nervous? They were friends, had seen each other through good times and bad. He'd given her away when she married Terry, despite private reservations as to the wisdom of that choice, and later held her while she cried when that marriage ended. In turn, she'd pounded sense into him when he fell into a funk after Kory married Karras. They knew each other too well to be nervous with each other.

 

Or so he'd thought when he landed.

 

And then Dick had noticed how the breeze sculpted fabric around her body -- was still noticing, if he were honest about it -- and hoped Donna hadn't felt the sudden tension in his body when she hugged him. Despite the familiarity of the gesture between them, there'd been a new awareness of her tingling through his body when she touched him, and he gave silent thanks for the cup he wore beneath his costume. It might be uncomfortable as hell at the moment, but at least it hid his reaction to that awareness from her.

 

Maybe, just maybe, Donna had the same reason to be nervous he was discovering in himself.

 

Then his mind caught up to what she'd been saying. "Diana's gone?"

 

Donna glanced at him sidewise, surprised at his question. "Yes. Atlantis requested a neutral third party to mediate a few disputes between Poseidonis and Tritonis."

 

"One less translator to assist you, then." Dick grinned at her.

 

"You'd be surprised," Donna said mildly. "Hippolyta speaks English very well. So does Pythia, our historian, Menalippe, our oracle, and a few others."

 

"I suspect I'll want to talk to both your historian and your oracle."

 

"You're piquing my curiosity terribly, you know that."

 

"Just making conversation until all the formalities are dealt with -- whatever they may be. Then I'll tell you everything, and ask for your help."

 

=X=

 

By the time Dick finished greeting the queen, apologizing for disturbing the silence of the island with the Batplane's engines (which strictly speaking was not required, but Alfred's instruction in protocol and manners went bone deep), and enjoying a traditional light lunch of fruit, fish, and bread with Donna and the queen, his Nomex-and-Kevlar-blend suit had trapped what felt like a gallon of sweat against his skin.

 

Dick thought he didn't squirm too much, but every time he moved -- whether to stand, sit, or even simply reach for a piece of fruit -- his suit shifted and pulled as though it were peeling away a layer of his skin with it. If she noticed his discomfort, the queen was too polite to smile at it.

 

"Come on," Donna said when lunch was over.

 

Dick followed, then frowned when she turned deeper into the palace, rather than to the outside. "Where are we going?"

 

"To get you out of that uniform."

 

"Pardon?" Maybe she was feeling the same attraction he was.   He hadn't expected her to be so blunt about it, though.

 

"There's a reason Greeks went nearly naked."  Donna didn't look back as she spoke, and Dick relaxed his face into normal curiosity. She wasn't feeling it, then.  "Heat and humidity do not wear well with lots of clothing, after all.  And Themyscira's even worse for those than Greece, some days."  She laughed.  "Hippolyta jokes that she knows when I'm home because my boots and costume land before I do."

 

Dick chuckled. "Joys of this island. I mean, it'd be just my luck that I'd strip down on the way back into the penthouse and some satellite flyby would record it."

 

"It'd be on the internet in minutes. Here we are."  Donna paused outside a room.  "Your room, while you're here."

 

"Thanks."  Dick stepped past the geometrically-patterned curtain that served as a door and into the room.  Beneath the single window, a mattress rested on a wooden platform.  Two chairs flanked a marble-topped table to one side of the bed, and on the other side, a small cabinet painted with a scene Dick couldn't immediately identify held a vase of flowers.  Dick put his briefcase beside the cabinet.

 

"I know it's not Wayne Manor, but it's comfortable."

 

Dick turned to her.  "I was born in a circus wagon, remember?  This is plenty for me."

 

Donna crossed to the cabinet, opened its doors.  Inside, Dick saw stacks of neatly folded, brightly-colored fabric.  A wooden box rested on the top shelf, and when Donna set it on top of the cabinet next to his briefcase, he saw that it contained a variety of metalwork pins.

 

"Most of our clothing is very simple," Donna said, and Dick focused on her explanation.  "Squares or rectangles of fabric held in place with a fibula or two.  Traditionally, Greek men wore a chlamys or a chiton, so you have your choice."

 

"It would help if I knew what a chlamys is."

 

"One of the simplest garments that ever existed."  Donna pulled a length of deep blue fabric from the cabinet and shook out the folds.

 

"That's big enough for a blanket."

 

"And frequently used for one, too.  You wear it like this."  Donna wrapped the fabric around him, fastening it over his right shoulder with a fibula.  The fabric fell around him, leaving his right side free -- for weapon use, he assumed -- and covering his left side from shoulder to knee.

 

 "Is anything worn under it?"

 

"Not usually."

 

Dick glanced down at himself.  All it would take was one stiff breeze, and all of him, stiff or otherwise, would be revealed for all to see.  "I'll stick with the chiton."

 

"Suit yourself."  Donna didn't appear to read anything unusual into his statement, and for that Dick was grateful.  Quickly she refolded the blue fabric and withdrew two other pieces in a forest green.  "Fasten the two pieces together at the shoulders, like mine, and then you can get a narrower strip for a belt.  I'll wait for you outside, and then we can talk to Pythia and Menalippe."

 

When she'd pulled the curtain behind her, Dick let out a breath and quickly peeled out of his costume.  He almost stripped off the cup, too, but stopped before he got it halfway down and resettled it in place.  Uncomfortable as it might be, it would at least keep any of his body's reactions to the sight of so many beautiful women from giving offense.

 

Until now, he'd thought that still having the reactions of a younger man was one of the best benefits of not aging. Now it was a nuisance, and he had to wonder what else he thought was a benefit might actually be a nuisance in disguise.

 

=X=

 

"I'm hoping that someone here is knowledgeable enough in ancient Greek or proto-Greek alphabets to translate a line of text I found recently."  Dick stood at a table with Donna and a handful of other Amazons, including the historian Pythia and the oracle Menalippe.  The oddest member of their group, he thought, was Philippus, captain of the queen's guard.  Likely the dark-skinned woman was more than a soldier, but Dick wondered if her presence was due to her knowledge or her suspicion of his motives.

 

"Where did you find it?" Donna asked. 

 

"In my mother's journal."  Dick opened the briefcase and reached in for the journal.  His fingers closed first around the deck of tarot cards he'd tossed in with the rest of his notes from this research project, and he pulled them from the briefcase, set them aside, and reached back into the satchel.

 

"What are these?"  The question came from the oracle Menalippe, and Dick smiled at her.

 

"They're called tarot cards.  Some people use them for divination."

 

"An oracle?  May I look at them?"

 

"Sure."  Dick watched her pick up the deck from the corner of his eye as he withdrew his mother's journal from the briefcase.  Then she faded from his awareness as he thumbed to the page with the strange text and offered the book for Donna's examination first.  "On the right hand page.  I've already determined it's a combination of Linear A, Linear B, and other scripts, but that's where I hit a brick wall."

 

"What text, Dick?"

 

"At the bottom of the right hand page," Dick repeated, surprised.  Donna didn't often miss a detail like that.

 

But she was shaking her head.  "There's just your mother's writing."

 

Dick stepped around the table and traced his forefinger under the line of text on the page.  "Right there."

 

"I don't see it, Dick.  Neither does Pythia."  Donna's matter-of-fact tone didn't reassure him, nor did the shaking of heads as she passed the notebook amongst the gathered Amazons.

 

Dick held fast to the edge of the table.  How could they not see the text?  Was he hallucinating?  He'd never heard of hallucinations lasting so long nor remaining so consistent as this one, but he couldn't rule out the possibility.

 

"Dick."  Donna's calm, quiet voice drew his attention back to her.  "Has anyone else seen the writing?"

 

He started to answer in the affirmative, then shook his head.  "No.  I copied the text before sending it to ancient language experts."

 

Philippus said something in the Amazon language. 

 

Donna shook her head and answered in English.  "Dick's the most rational, level-headed person I've ever known.  If he says he sees the text, then he sees it."  She looked up at him.  "Will you copy the text for us?"

 

"I have the copy I already made."  Dick reached for the briefcase again, hoping that his hand didn't shake badly enough to be noticed.

 

He hadn't expected this new layer of mystery. In the few seconds while he rummaged for the transcription, he sorted possibilities. A chemical on the page that only reacted to his body chemistry? A chemical he'd ingested, somehow? Both of those were rejected as soon as he thought of them. They implied that someone had planted the words on the page for him to find -- but the compartment where he'd found the notebook hadn't been disturbed since his parents' deaths.

 

Or perhaps the entire notebook was a fake, planted to lure him into some trap he had yet to detect. But Dick had compared the handwriting in the notebook to the only other sample of his mother's writing that he had, a note she'd written to Sooze congratulating her on her engagement to Jacques, and the two samples had matched. If the notebook was a fake, Dick thought, it was the best forgery he'd ever seen.

 

Dick gave an internal sigh. It would be just his luck that sometime, somewhere, some carnival fortune-teller had cast a spell to put those symbols randomly in his mother's notebook and who knew where else, and he'd come all the way to Themyscira on the world's longest wild goose chase.

 

But even if so, Dick thought, the trip wasn't entirely wasted. Seeing Donna was never a waste.

 

He found himself smiling as he handed her the transcribed copy of the symbols.

 

Donna gave him a quick smile in return, and then she studied the symbols, Philippus and Pythia looking over her shoulders.

 

Donna shook her head.  "I have no idea."

 

Over her head, Philippus and Pythia exchanged glances.  Dick's stomach clenched.  What did they know, or think they knew?

 

"Menalippe," Pythia said.  "You should look at this."

 

Dick looked over at the oracle.  She'd given up perusing the tarot cards and was reaching for his mother's journal.  Her eyes widened when she touched it.

 

"Oh."  It was a mild exclamation, but from the others' expressions, Dick judged Menalippe didn't make such exclamations often.  Menalippe's eyes were wide, her expression caught somewhere between beatific and surprised.

 

Menalippe extended the journal to him.  "If ever you desire a safe place for this, I would be honored to guard it for you."

 

"Ah -- thank you."  Dick took the journal, wondering just what the oracle had seen or sensed but unsure whether asking would be considered rude.  A glance at Donna showed that she appeared to be as confused as he felt.

 

Menalippe turned her attention to the transcription.  After a moment, she shook her head.  "I am sorry, but it is not my place to translate it."

 

"What?"

 

"The message is for you alone," Menalippe said.  "That is why only you can see it on the page."

 

"What good does it do to see it if I can't read it?" Dick fought to keep the frustration out of his voice.

 

"You can't read it yet.  When the time is right, you will."  Menalippe picked up the tarot cards again, idly shuffling them in her hands.

 

"And who gets to decide when the time is right?"  Now he didn't even try to conceal his frustration.

 

"Certainly not I.  These cards are quite interesting.  There's no power inherent in them, but they can open a portal tor true guidance.  Have you worked with them much?"

 

"Only when they were part of an investigation, and then only as clues to the crime.  Recently, a friend suggested two cards might help put me on the right path in this investigation."

 

"Was this one of them?"  Menalippe held up a card titled The Sun.  When Dick shook his head no, she returned the card to the deck and extended it to him.  "Thank you for letting me examine them.  I hope to see you when we greet the day tomorrow."  She nodded to him and to the other women, then rose gracefully and left the room.

 

This, Dick thought, was why he disliked working with sorcerers, magicians, and other spiritual types.  Getting a straight answer out of any of them was harder than beating Clark at arm-wrestling.  He'd at least managed to do that once.

"The oracle walks a difficult path at times."  Pythia's quiet observation drew his attention back to her.  "She sometimes sees more than the gods allow her to tell."

Dick forced back a sharp retort, took a silent breath and let it out. "I'm trying to understand, Pythia.  It's just frustrating to be so close to an answer and then have it denied."

"Is this the biggest frustration you've faced?"  The challenge came, of course, from Philippus.

Dick smiled slightly and met her gaze squarely.  "Certainly not.  It's just the one in front of me at the moment."

Philippus gave a grunt of acknowledgment.  Dick wanted to think it held approval, however slight, as well, though the warrior gave no other sign of it as she, too, took her leave.  Dick started gathering the papers strewn about the table to return them to his briefcase. His glance landed on The Sun and lingered. Spiritual types might never give a straight answer, but everything they did say had meaning, and out of all the cards in the tarot deck, Menalippe had directed him to The Sun.  It deserved further study.

"Before you leave," Pythia once again drew him from his thoughts, "I hope to talk to you about the princesses' adventures outside Themyscira."

"Pythia, please --" Donna began, but the other woman cut her off.

"I will not be dissuaded.  It is rare enough that your or Diana's friends visit, and even less do they spend time to talk.  But no crisis demands attention now, so I ask Dick's indulgence."

Dick hid a grin at Donna's discomfort and asked Pythia, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Your thoughts on their battles," Pythia said.  "I visited the United States of America with the queen, and though I did not speak much English then, I did observe that people held the princess Diana in high esteem.  We did not know Donna then, but I believe that to be true for her as well."

"It is," Dick agreed immediately.

"And that has led me to wonder about their tales of their adventures."

"You think they exaggerated?" Dick couldn't imagine Donna or Diana exaggerating their exploits.  It just wasn't in either woman's makeup.

"I fear they have been too modest in their tales, and I would set the record straight."

"I see."  Dick bit back a grin at Donna's annoyed expression.  "I'm happy to help."

Pythia smiled broadly, and Donna rose with a grumble.  "I suppose I'll see you after you're done embarrassing me."

"Donna -- can we talk, later?"

"Of course."  Donna seemed surprised that he'd asked.  "After dinner?"

"Thanks."  He turned back to Pythia.  "Where do you want to start?"

"When did you first meet Donna?" Dick smiled, remembering.  "I was twelve.  Donna had just left Themyscira, and Diana brought her to Batman -- Bruce -- for an identity.  Even then, you needed a ton of documents to prove you were who you said you were. That was the beginning of our friendship -- the best, longest friendship of my life."

=X=

It wasn't until Dick saw the sky outside beginning to darken that he realized just how long he'd been talking with Pythia.

 

He must be getting old, Dick thought, if it were becoming that easy to slip into telling stories of years gone by.  He'd have to watch that tendency, and not indulge it too often.  Looking forward, not backward, had been a hallmark of his life, and he never wanted that to change.

"I have kept you too long," Pythia said.  "But we will not be late to supper."

"I enjoyed it.  And I hope it was helpful."

"Very."  Pythia gestured for him to join her as she left the room where they'd been working.  "Thank you for sharing your stories, Dick.  They will help me fill out the princesses' histories, and they were enjoyable to hear in their own right, as well."

Dick never knew how to respond when he was thanked for doing something he enjoyed, whether that something was telling stories with and about friends or stopping a bank robbery in progress.  When he spoke to the news media, he always gave a, "Just doing what I can," reply, but that felt wrong in this moment.  So he simply nodded acknowledgment as Pythia led him down the main path toward the royal residence.

It couldn't properly be called a palace, he thought, studying the building.  It was hardly larger than any of the others and certainly wasn't ostentatious in its sculpture or decorative appurtenances.  It was, he decided, the residence of someone who ruled as first among equals, not as an absolute monarch.

"And thank you for coming here."

"Pardon?"

"I trust you will keep what I am about to tell you in confidence."

That seemed to demand a reply, so Dick said, "You have my word."

"Donna seems much happier today than she has these last months.  I think she misses her life outside Themyscira, and you remind her of it."

"Are you so sure it's good that she's reminded?"  The words were out before Dick knew he was going to say them, and he knew he needed to elaborate.  "I've always known why she came home -- she didn't want to watch all those people she loves grow old and die.  My being here, even if I don't look like I'm aging, just reminds her of those loved ones."

 

And it was that knowledge that had almost decided Dick against coming to see Donna at all. In the end, he'd concluded that visiting Themyscira while she was present and could vouch for him edged out the risk of hurting her, however slightly, by reminding her of those she would be losing. Including him.

 

"So perhaps it is not an unmitigated good," Pythia allowed. "But more good than bad, I think. And I am grateful for that good. Grief does not become her."

 

"No, it doesn't."  Grief, or at least a slight sadness, was more Diana's forte than Donna's, Dick decided.  Donna had always been the more optimistic of the two, and on those occasions when life challenged her optimism in brutal ways -- her divorce, the deaths of her ex-husband and son -- she never stayed down for long.  It was the thing he loved most about her, that they shared an innate faith in the best that people could be, despite every day seeing the worst that people could be.

 

"But come, we should not be so somber going in to dine."  Pythia lightened her tone.  "I understand there will be dancing, and perhaps even a play."

 

"Amazons do dinner theater.  Who knew?"  Donna's voice came from above him, and he looked up to meet her gaze as she touched down beside them.  "But I think they're going to want to talk about books, mostly.  Though the dancing is a given."

 

"What books?" Dick asked.

 

"At the moment, _The Tale of Genji_.  We're working through world classics in roughly chronological order."

 

"That's what -- tenth, eleventh century?" Dick asked.

 

"About that," Donna agreed.  "Those of us who read English -- yes, we use English translations, sue us -- take turns reading, and at the end, we all discuss and debate the books."

 

"Sounds interesting."

 

Donna laughed.  "You know that's not what you were going to say."

 

Dick shook his head.  "No, it does sound interesting.  The discussions after, even though you'd never get me to sit still long enough to listen to the reading.  Where did you start?"

 

"The _Bible_ ," Donna said.  "The Diaspora predated the Amazons a bit, so they were at least familiar with some of the events depicted in it.  And then we worked through Augustine and Eusebius -- those didn't go over so well."

 

"They are exactly the same kind of men who enslaved us so long ago."  Pythia's quiet voice carried contempt.  "The same hatred, the same envy, drove them all.  I was not the only one glad when we got past those."

 

"Maybe you should skip Dante," Dick suggested to Donna.

 

"No," Donna and Pythia said at the same time.  Pythia nodded to Donna to speak first, and she said, "Skipping something so significant is dishonest.  We're looking at the development of thoughts and ideas and cultural patterns as well as the literary work itself."

 

"Some of us, myself included, are hoping that a broader, less culture-centric view of things will be of use," Pythia added.  "And for that we need the good and the bad, as well as the indifferent."

 

"Interesting times ahead, it sounds like," Dick said because a comment was needed.  His mind was elsewhere, wondering what a cadre of several hundred Amazons, armed with knowledge of history, an understanding of other cultures, and strength of will could accomplish in the world -- for good or evil.

 

=X=

 

In the end, there was no play, just music, dancing, and spirited conversation. Where the Amazons might lack technological knowledge, they had spent considerable time contemplating ethical issues and consequences of the technology they did know about. Finally, Dick laughed and suggested that one of them take a position as ethical advisor to WayneTech.

 

He thought he'd meant the suggestion in jest, but when they started debating who would be best for the position, Dick realized he was as serious about it as they were. At the least, he thought, it would be amusing to see Damian's expression when it happened.

 

When they slipped into Themysciran Greek without pausing, Donna leaned over to him. "They'll be at it all night."

 

Something inside Dick clenched at the thought of spending hours with nothing to do but sit and listen to a debate in a language he didn't completely understand. He'd do it -- courtesy demanded no less -- but he'd much rather be swinging from rooftops back in Gotham. He'd even rather be standing still for a fitting of the suit he'd ordered for Damian's wedding.

 

"Care to go for a walk around the island?"

 

"Lead the way." Dick didn't care how relieved he sounded. Donna knew him too well to take his relief as an insult.

 

Dick paused outside the royal residence and looked up at the night sky. Only the brightest stars shone through the blanket of artificial light that snuggled around Gotham at night. Here, far away from any light pollution, he saw them all -- familiar friends Arcturus and Polaris, Vega that was home to Kory -- nestled amongst constellations named for Zodiac signs and Greek myths. Appropriate, he thought, considering where he was.

 

"Neither Diana nor I have ever told them that constellation there is Hercules," Donna murmured. "They'd hate the thought of him being overhead all summer."

 

"I imagine so. But haven't they named their own constellations? The patterns we named aren't the only patterns you could choose."

 

"Oh, some, of course. Orion is the same, and Draco. But we recognize also Arachne and the Owl, and what you think of as Cassiopeia they call Diana."

 

"Diana?" Dick repeated. "As in your sister?"

 

Donna laughed and started toward the center of the city. "No, Diana as in Diana Trevor. A pilot who landed here during the Second World War, and for whom my sister was named."

 

Dick fell into easy step with her as he so often had in the past. "And here I was going to go home and brag about knowing someone who had a whole constellation named for her, not just a star."

 

"Hah. Like you'd brag about something so trivial." When she slid an arm around him, it was natural to drape his own arm around her shoulders and pull her closer against his side.

 

After a few steps, she said, "How's Kory? I think of her every time I look at Vega."

 

"I assume she's happy there. She went home not long after you came here."

 

"She did? Really?" Donna shook her head. "Sorry, but I thought you and she were --"

 

"In love. I know. Everybody did. Even we did."

 

"It was hard not to think that. You were together a long time."

 

"Together, yes, but not in love. Not in any way that matters. Donna -- she never wanted to get to know _me_ , Dick Grayson, Romany circus brat who got in way over his head way too young."

 

"I believed her when she said she loved you."

 

"By her standards, I'm sure she did," Dick allowed, "but it was the way someone loves their cocker spaniel, not the way they love forever."

 

"But you stayed with her anyway?"

 

"It was easy to be with her. Probably in the same way it was easy for you to be with Terry."

 

Donna stiffened under his arm, and Dick winced. Maybe he was wrong about that, or maybe she wasn't ready to hear it. Why had he assumed otherwise? And how could he apologize for it without making the awkward moment worse?

 

Then she let out a breath. "I was eighteen when I met Terry, and for all that I'd been away from Themyscira so long, I was still ignorant of so much. I did love him, but in that naive, starry-eyed kind of way. At the time, I didn't know that kind of love never lasts forever."

 

Dick tightened his arm around her in wordless understanding. Then they rounded a bend in the path and the stark sculpted shapes of public buildings gave way to softer silhouettes of tents and awnings that rippled in the breeze.

 

"Themyscira has a slum?"

 

"No, silly." Donna laughed, and the sound of it made him smile. Grief didn't become her, not even grief felt at several decades' remove. "The marketplace."

 

"Amazons have a market?"

 

"Of course. Where else would the farmers and the weavers and the potters gather to trade?"

 

"I suppose I thought it was some kind of commune."

 

Donna laughed again, and this time Dick knew she was at least partly laughing at his assumptions. "We're Greek -- all about the individual. No communism for us, thanks."

 

Then she stopped and turned to face him. "It's strange."

 

"What is?"

 

"How easy it is to talk to you, even after all this time. No awkwardness, no meaningless catching up on trivialities."

 

"We've been through too much, too many times, to be awkward."

 

"So why haven't you brought it up?"

 

"Brought what up?"

 

"Whatever you wanted to talk about when you asked if we could talk later."

 

Dick exhaled a chuckle. "I didn't actually want to talk about anything in particular. Just to talk with you. I've missed it."

 

"You can't have missed those two a.m. phone calls when I cried on your shoulder about, oh, pretty much everything."

 

"Yes, the two a.m. phone calls, and the lattes and the lunches, the occasional stop-bys on stakeouts. I've missed you." Dick took a breath. "But I always knew why you came back here, and I wouldn't have intruded if I didn't have to."

 

"You did?" Donna's eyes went wide with shock.

 

"It didn't take that great a detective to figure it out," Dick said. "You came back here so you wouldn't have to watch people you love get old."

 

"Oh."

 

What was that supposed to mean? Her expression was a combination of resignation and -- disappointment? "Am I wrong?"

 

"Not in general."

 

He was wrong in specifics, then. Dick rifled through possibilities quickly, settled on the most logical. "Someone in particular you didn't want to watch."

 

"The possibility that someone might die in combat didn't bother me," Donna said, then immediately corrected herself. "Not much, anyway. That's what we do, we choose that risk every single time we go fight the good fight. And if I were in the fight, too, then at least I'd know I'd done everything I could to prevent it. But age and decline aren't a fight. There's nothing I can do to stop them."

 

"And you hate feeling helpless as much as I do." Sometimes, like now, Dick found his detective-trained mind annoying. It was analyzing conversational clues in an attempt to deduce who Donna's "one person" might be. She'd just dropped the first clue: it was someone she'd fought beside, more than once. That only narrowed the potential pool by half.

 

"Yes. So I took the coward's way out, and left."

 

"You're not a coward, Donna."

 

"What else would you call it?"

 

"Respect, maybe. Or compassion. Because as hard as it would be for you, it would be equally hard for the other person -- or harder. Or do you honestly think Roy would enjoy getting old while you stayed young?"

 

Donna chuckled. "Bad choice of example. He'd appreciate the view until his dying breath."

 

"Which is not the same as enjoying the experience." Roy was the logical choice. Donna and Roy shared a long-time, deep affection, maybe even deeper than what Dick shared with her. But her response to his question was that of a friend, not of someone thinking about a foregone love.

 

"I'm starting to think I made the wrong choice."

 

"Decided you can't live without him? Or is it a her?"

 

"Realized that I may not have to."

 

Before Dick could ask what she meant by that, she'd stepped into his personal space, rested her hands on his shoulders, and stretched up on her toes to brush her lips against his.

 

The warmth of her lips drove home the conclusion he hadn't dared entertain and spurred him to respond. His arms went around her, pulling her tight against him, and his eyes drifted closed as he savored the silky feel of her mouth under his until breathing became an absolute necessity.

 

"Donna." Dick murmured her name against her mouth between light kisses.

 

"Dick." Donna pulled back to look into his eyes. "I couldn't bear to watch you get old and die."

 

"I wouldn't want you to. I don't want you to."

 

"But now…" She ran her hand over his chest. Dick caught it in his, held it fast.

 

"Now we don't know what's going on." It hurt to say those words, but he had to be honest. "All we know is that I don't look any older than you do. We don't know why, or what will happen later. It may just be delaying the inevitable."

 

"I don't want to believe that."

 

"Neither do I. But until we know -- I won't make promises I'm not certain of keeping."

 

"I'm not asking for promises now. Just to know that I'm not the only one feeling it."

 

"I've always loved you more deeply than I have anyone else." Dick raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. "But there was always some reason, some excuse, not to let you know."

 

"No excuses now."

 

"No."

 

"For anything." Her free hand stroked down his torso, leaving a trail of flexing muscles in its wake. And then she laughed. "Only you would wear a cup under a chiton."

 

"Yeah, well, you think tenting looks goofy in underwear…."

 

"That must be getting uncomfortable."

 

"Has been most of the day, actually."

 

"Well, then, why not take it off?"

 

He was happy to comply.

 


	3. Elsewhere

Sun Point, Donna called the place where she led him. When they arrived, Dick understood why. A promontory of smooth rose quartz jutted eastward over the ocean. A double handful of Amazons gathered at the juncture where rocky outcrops became quartz, looking over the point of the headland toward sunrise. As they drew closer, Dick saw the asterism in the quartz, a single bright star that twinkled and gleamed in the crystal's depths.

 

Donna exchanged quiet greetings with the other Amazons, and Dick forced his attention away from the quartz long enough to do the same. After only a day, he was already picking up simple phrases in Themysciran Greek, and though he was certain his accent was horrible, the women seemed to appreciate his effort.

 

Still, Dick knew it was a distracted effort at best. His gaze would not be diverted from the crystal for more than seconds at a time before it returned as if compelled. His suspicious nature suggested that it might be a trap of some kind, but reason rejected that idea immediately. This was Donna, and Themyscira, and what kind of trap could await him here?

 

"I am glad you came, Dick."

 

Once again, Dick turned from the star crystal that held his attention like a candle flame attracted a moth to smile at the oracle Menalippe. "I hope I won't give offense unintentionally. I have no idea what to do."

 

"Stand with us," Menalippe said. "An open and respectful heart will suffice."

 

Dick nodded, and his gaze drifted back toward the quartz. Donna's voice called his attention to her. It shouldn't have taken that much willpower to look at her.

 

"Christian and Muslim prayer is for invocation or supplication -- 'God, please do this' -- or sometimes gratitude -- 'thank you for doing this.' Our prayer is more for propitiation -- 'God, please don't mess with us' -- and our gratitude is 'thank you for ignoring us.'"

 

Dick chuckled. "If the mythology's correct, your gods do have a habit of meddling in lives." Again, his attention wanted to rest on the quartz instead of the women he spoke with. "Is it permitted to walk out onto the point?"

 

Donna looked surprised by the question, and glanced at Menalippe. The oracle smiled gently.

 

"Please," she said. "Explore as you will. But when sunrise comes, face east."

 

Dick inclined his head in both thanks and acknowledgment and gave Donna's hand a slight squeeze before stepping carefully onto the quartz.

 

The stone felt warm beneath his feet, as though it had baked in the tropical sun all day. Which, Dick reminded himself, it would -- but not until day actually arrived. This warmth had lingered overnight. Unusual, but perhaps not for a sacred place. Dick had little experience with those.

 

Some instinct made him turn eastward just as the first line of sun breached the horizon.  Behind him, the Amazons began to chant.  Single notes plucked on lyres added a counterpoint to the women's voices, and Dick found himself wanting to join the chant, but his command of Greek was insufficient for the task. Dick squinted against the light, and then realized that the crystal on which he stood had also begun to glow.  The asterism shone at least as bright as the sunrise, and was beginning to heat up as though with the fires of the sun itself.  Every instinct Dick had ever trusted urged him to back away, off the rosy quartz, before it grew bright enough to blind him or hot enough to roast him where he stood. Would such a move offend or insult the gathered Amazons?  Dick didn't know, and self-preservation fought long-bred courtesy between heartbeats.  Self-preservation won, but when he tried to move, he found himself immobilized.  Panic edged his thoughts, forced down by strength of will.  He'd been in worse situations and survived.  The chanting receded as sunlight spilled over the ocean and raced straight toward him. Before Dick could fully register the near-blinding reflection skimming across the ocean surface, the star beneath his feet exploded in light, surrounding him even as the sun's rays enveloped him. He braced for some burning sensation, but instead of being seared, Dick felt searched, examined to the core of his being.  No sense of judgment accompanied it, he thought.  Instead, it carried a more detached feeling of, "So, who and what are you?" All the answers to that question raced through Dick's mind.  Romany circus boy.  Acrobat.  Orphan.  Ward and later adopted son of Bruce Wayne.  Detective.  Former partner of Batman.  College dropout. Vigilante.  Nightwing.  Batman, for a time. Former leader of the Titans, the Outsiders, and the Justice League. Circus owner.  Former bartender.  Former cop.  Member of the Board of Directors of Wayne Enterprises and the Wayne Foundation.  Friend. Brother in all but blood.  Lover.  Warrior.  Others he couldn't put words to, but the identity and the association remained. The searching feeling faded even as the light around him dimmed to more normal levels.  Before him, stretching from the tip of the promontory where he stood, a stairway of light ascending toward the heavens took shape. Dick's curiosity led him to accept the invitation, or at least to test it.  He stepped forward, his right foot probing the stairwell.  It felt solid, and he rested more of his weight on it.  When it supported him, he took another step and then, more confidently, another and another. A piece of the sun broke off and approached him.

As it drew nearer, the sliver of light stretched and morphed into a man with curly hair that touched his shoulders wearing only a chlamys woven in fiery yellows and reds. "You are the son of Mary Grayson." It wasn't a question, but Dick still felt the need to respond. "Richard John Grayson.  You're Apollo." The other man -- no, the god -- nodded once.  "I had not expected to meet you this side of Elysium." "I never expected to meet you at all."  Dick hoped his bravado covered the surprise he felt at the assumption he'd join the Greek heroes in Elysium when he died.  But what else would a Greek god say?

"No?" Apollo raised one eyebrow.  "Then why did you come here, if not in response to my invitation?" "I don't recall receiving an invitation."  Dick chose his phrasing carefully.  The Greek gods were far more capricious than most, and prone to take offense on a whim.  Apollo, Dick thought, was less subject to that tendency than, say, Hera, but better to err on the side of caution. "Inscribed in your mother's book." "Why did you write in her journal?" _So that's why Menalippe offered to guard it,_ he thought. _It must be a holy relic to them._

 

Apollo smiled slightly, an uptick of the lips similar to how Bruce used to smile, except that Dick sensed genuine amusement from Apollo. "How else to leave a message for a son I did not want anyone to know about?"

 

Son? No. It couldn't be, not least because, "My mother loved my father. She would never have cheated on him. Not even with a god."

 

"That is one reason her prayer was answered," Apollo said. "Which I did not do lightly. She was a good woman -- and her husband a good man, so the only way to answer her prayer was through subterfuge."

 

"You slept with her -- looking like my father." It made a certain sense, Dick thought, though his stomach twisted with the knowledge that John Grayson was not his actual father.

 

"As you say, she would not have cheated on him. But her prayers rent the halls of Olympus itself. I could not but be moved by them -- and, being moved, I could not but answer in the only way I could."

 

"It wasn't just a dalliance for you?"

 

Apollo's expression told him just how rude the question was, but Dick met the god's eyes without flinching. It mattered to him, mattered deeply, and the god could at least do him the courtesy of answering truthfully.

 

"No," Apollo said. "It wasn't. I heard her prayers, but we do not intervene in mortals' lives nearly as much as we used to. I considered long before deciding, studying her, watching her. I cared for her."

 

Dick studied Apollo -- _For all the good it'll do. Do gods have the same tells as humans?_ \-- trying to judge the truth of his words.

 

Apollo smiled slightly, as though reading his intention. "I am lord of truth. I do not lie."

 

No, he didn't, Dick decided. At least not in this case. Dick didn't like admitting how relieved he felt to know that Apollo had cared, however little, for his mother. It made the whole situation ever-so-slightly-easier to bear. His mother hadn't been a tool or, worse, plaything in the hands of an unthinking, lackadaisical god.

 

Dick let out a breath, releasing his concern for his mother with it, and refocused on why he'd originally come to Themyscira. "Why am I aging so slowly and healing so quickly?" "Just as I am lord of truth, I am also lord of healing." "You've been healing me?"  That wasn't the answer Dick had expected. Apollo laughed.  "No.  But as my son, you share some of my attributes." That would bear thinking about, Dick decided. And, perhaps, testing. But those were matters for later, after he'd learned what else Apollo had in store for him at this meeting. Dick summoned a grin.  "At least I haven't been taking up your time with taking care of me." "What do you do that requires you to be taken care of?" "I …" Dick paused.  How could he explain what he did concisely?  He wouldn't claim to be a super-hero; he had no super-powers.  Then he recalled one of Commissioner Gordon's old nicknames for Bruce and he had the answer.  "I'm a crusader.  I crusade for justice.  Sometimes, I get in fights with the bad guys." "Do you win these fights?" "More often than not.  But win or lose, I do get banged up sometimes." "So you do not waste the gifts your heritage has given you." "I didn't know their source, but I've tried to use them well." "Then I am proud of you."  Apollo rested a hand on his shoulder, and heat spread from that point of contact to suffuse his body before fading almost instantly.  "And I will grant you one request, if it is in my power to give.  More than that might draw too much attention to you." Dick raised an eyebrow.  "You're one of the better-liked gods.  What enemies do you have?" "True that I have no rivalry as Athena does with Poseidon, but any attention drawn to you makes you a pawn.  That would not suit you, I think." "I'm nobody's pawn."  The response was automatic, but no less true because of it.  Apollo nodded, apparently understanding, and Dick focused on the god's words.  One request, Apollo had said, and Dick knew enough of Greek myth to know that he needed to be extremely careful what he asked for, because he'd get it in a way that he wasn't expecting.  "I'd like to consider what request would be most appropriate.  Is this the only place where we can talk?" "I can visit any shrines where I am worshipped." Which meant, Dick realized, that the practical answer to his question was yes.  He hoped the Amazons wouldn't mind his occasional visits to talk with Apollo. "I can visit you in dreams, as well," Apollo added.  "It is not direct communication such as this, but it is possible." "I look forward to talking with you again."  Dick hesitated, then said what was in his heart.  "I may never think of you as my father in an emotional sense.  That role has been filled twice over.  But I'm glad to know the truth, and I'm glad to know you.  I hope we can be friends." "Friends."  Apollo appeared to mull the word over.  Then he smiled. "That is far more than some have offered.  My gratitude to the men you called father for giving me such a fine son."

 

A silence that Dick didn't know how to fill lingered almost a moment too long before Apollo added, "And I hope the knowledge that I had no hand in raising a fine son will keep me humble." "Probably not," Dick said without thinking.  "You are a god, after all, and none of you are exactly known for humility." Apollo's light dimmed as his expression darkened, and Dick wondered if he'd have to use his one request to keep the god from killing him, son or no son.  Would the god even honor that request? "You speak truthfully," Apollo said finally.  "If perhaps too bluntly." "I've always been direct.  I'll try to be more tactful, if you prefer." Silence stretched again while Apollo considered that, and Dick took the moment to look around.  Bruce would have chided him for not minding his surroundings, for being too caught up in his conversation with the god to register details that might prove important -- such as the stairway being barely wide enough for him to stand comfortably on. He'd grown up walking on tightropes, so the stairs were no challenge.  Unless, his subconscious reminded him in Bruce's voice, you have to fight on them. Dick glanced down and frowned when he saw that Themyscira lay so far below that he could barely make out buildings, much less people.  He'd only taken a few dozen steps, hadn't he?  He'd count when he returned. "No."  Apollo's voice brought him back to the moment.  "Let us be honest with each other.  It is the way of friends, is it not?" "Yes, it is." Seeing Themyscira had reminded him that, "I left a friend on Earth when I came to talk to you.  Donna can't see us, can she?" Apollo shook his head. "She's probably worried.  No, scratch that -- she is worried."  He'd been worrying for Donna, and she for him, most of his life. Now, though, there'd be a new layer to her concern.  He hoped. Apollo looked down at Themyscira far below, then back up at Dick, smiling.  "Worried, aye, and ready to storm Olympus itself for you." "That's Donna."  Dick chuckled. "Return to her," Apollo said, "and reassure her that you are well.  We shall speak again." Dick started to turn, then paused.  This time, it was his conscience speaking to him in a voice that sounded uncomfortably like Alfred's. "Does something trouble you?" Apollo asked. "I hope I don't come across as ungrateful," Dick said after a moment. "It's just surprising, and I haven't absorbed it all yet." "I look forward to speaking with you when you have absorbed it all." It was a much politer dismissal than Bruce had frequently given, but it was still a dismissal.  Dick nodded and turned back down the stairs. Two steps later, he was on Themyscira. =X= "Dick!" Donna's cry barely registered in his ears before her arms were around him.  Dick's arms wrapped around her reflexively.  "Are you all right?" "Fine," Dick answered, though he wasn't certain that was entirely correct.  His entire worldview had just changed, and his stomach was still reeling from the sudden return to earth. Beneath his feet, the rose crystal felt barely warmer than the air around him.  He stepped off the crystal and swayed on his feet for a moment. Donna steadied him, concern etched in her expression. "Just getting my land legs back," Dick quipped. "Let's go get you some breakfast.  The others can welcome the day." "I want to stay for all of it." It wasn't an order like he'd given when they were in the Titans, but Donna closed her mouth on the protest he was certain she was about to make, and instead turned them both to face east and the rising sun. Dick frowned.  The sun should be well and truly up by now, shouldn't it?  But no, not even the line of sunrise on the horizon was visible. "Donna -- how long was I gone?" "A whole day."  If he hadn't known her so well, he would've missed the slight tremor in her voice. His arm tightened around her.  "I'll tell you all about it." "You'd better." Then the first notes of the lyres sounded, and Dick realized that he knew the hymn, the notes and the words, and he chanted with the Amazons, his baritone a lower counterpoint to the alto and soprano voices around him. _Come now, Amazons, And gather at the craggy sacred place. Repose on the crystalline mountain top And celebrate the Pythian Lord With the golden bow, Phoebus, Whom Leto bore unassisted On the Delian rock surrounded by silvery olives, The luxuriant plant which the Goddess Pallas Long ago brought forth._ The last notes of the paean died away, and Dick felt more energy than he had when he stepped off the quartz ledge.  Perhaps the hymn had somehow invigorated him as well as the god who was his father? And if so, what did that make him?

 

 _Demi-god._ His encyclopedic mind gave him the technical term. The self he was comfortable being shied away from its implications.

 

"Dick?" Donna's soft query rescued him from those implications. "How'd you learn the hymn?"

 

Donna wasn't the only one wondering about him, Dick saw. He heard the gathered Amazons speaking in low tones, asking what had just happened, who this outsider-barbarian might be that Apollo had deigned to visit him. And then he heard Menalippe reassuring them that all was well.

 

And then he realized that he understood their words, not just their meanings.

 

"Apollo taught me." It must have happened when the god touched him, Dick thought, and that made him wonder what other gifts the god might have given him at the same time.

 

"It must have been some conversation -- you just spoke Greek."

 

"I'm thinking in it, too, to a point."

 

"Dick, what happened up there?"

 

 _What happened?  My life turned upside-down.  Again._  "I'll tell you everything, I promise.  But not now, okay?  I need to think about it."

 

Donna looked as though she were going to protest, but then nodded.  She'd always been the one who knew when to press him and when not to, and now she chose the latter. Just another reason he loved her.

 

"Anything I need to know about the island?  Anything poisonous?  Dangerous predators?"

 

"You mean besides my sister Amazons?  No, nothing to worry about.  Except there are sometimes jellyfish off the north coast."

 

"No swimming off the north coast.  Got it."  Dick reached up to stroke her cheekbone with his thumb, then cup his hand around her face.  "Thanks for not pushing."

 

"It's only temporary."

 

"I know."  He leaned forward to kiss her lightly, then turned to follow the coastline southward.

 

=X=

 

Well, Dick mused, he had the answer to why he wasn't aging.  It wasn't what he'd expected, but it was an answer.  So why didn't he feel the rush of satisfaction he usually felt when solving a case?

 

When he'd left Sun Point, Dick turned south, following the shore of Themyscira clockwise around the island.  He'd climbed a few outcrops and had to squelch the urge to give a Tarzan-like yell when he'd swung across an inlet.  Dick hadn't had that urge since the first time he swung on a jumpline.

 

Then he walked along a sandy beach, water spilling over his feet before returning to the sea.  The rhythmic advance and retreat of the waves wasn't the city noise he was used to, but it served the same purpose, providing background noise that kept one part of his mind happy so the other could consider questions and eventually propose answers.

 

Unfortunately, no answers were forthcoming even when he completed his circuit of the island and turned back toward the city. A yellow building with a colonnaded entrance drew his attention and his footsteps.

 

Dick stepped into the cool temple, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim interior for a moment before padding to the statue of Apollo bathed in a slice of sunshine through a high window.  He'd first gone back to Sun Point, but changed his mind before taking a place on the rose quartz promontory.  That would be too direct a contact for what he was feeling now.

 

Now, Dick simply wanted to feel his father's presence, in the same way he'd sometimes gone to the Batcave just to feel Bruce's presence, his spirit, lingering there.  Surely it was his own mind suggesting those feelings, but it was the one false comfort he indulged in.

 

He approached the life-size statue in silence, gazed up into its eyes that had been painted a turquoise blue.  The god gazed back, imperturbable.

 

A whisper of fabric against fabric made him glance over his shoulder.  "Hi, Do-"

 

It wasn't Donna who approached him, but her mother, the queen.  Hippolyta nodded a greeting as she came to stand beside him.  "Io sculpted that not long after we came to this island," she said.  "From the moment she finished it, she has tried to convince us to let her sculpt a statue more fit for Phoebus."

 

"It's a good likeness," Dick said.  "The eyes should be bluer, more cobalt or sapphire than turquoise, but otherwise it's very close."

 

"Speculation on what he had to say to you runs rampant."  Hippolyta must have noted his horror at the thought, for she added, "It is not our way to pry into such things, but we are only human."

 

"Menalippe knew before I did.  I expect all of you will know soon, but I want to talk to Donna about it first."

 

"You and she are close?"

 

There it was, the _what are your intentions toward my daughter?_ interrogation.  It came sooner than Dick had expected.  "I've known her since I was twelve.  She's been my best friend, confidante, partner.  I like to think I've been as much for her."

 

"You list things she has been.  What is she now?"

 

"All of those, still.  We've been through hell and back together more times than I want to count.  There's no one I trust more."

 

Hippolyta studied him for a long moment.  "Both of my daughters have chosen well."

 

Both? Dick decided not to wonder. "Knowing them, are you surprised?"

 

"No," Hippolyta answered, "but it is still good to have my faith rewarded.  I hope you won't mind a family meal tonight, Dick."

 

"It's my honor to be included in your family."

 

Hippolyta nodded, then dropped a handful of flower petals onto the base of Apollo's statue with a murmured prayer.  "I believe you'll find Donna on the martial field."

 

"Thank you," Dick said as the queen left.  Then he rested a hand beside the flower petals.  "All I have to offer right now are thanks for giving my mother what happiness she found in having a son. I'll offer more later."  He repeated the words in Greek, then followed Hippolyta's footsteps out of the temple.

 

=X=

 

The martial field was actually a stadium, Dick discovered.  Raised seating surrounded a large open space that could have held a football field or a baseball diamond.  Today the stands were empty, and only a dozen women had gathered on the field, apparently for wrestling practice.  All of them were naked, he noted, ready for their turn.

 

As he approached, Donna and a red-haired Amazon he didn't recognize were circling each other.  Philippus, captain of the queen's guard, barked a command in Greek, and the redhead closed on Donna.  The two women grappled, and after a moment, Donna had the redhead pinned.  Dick smiled, approving.  He'd taught her that hold during the first year the Titans were together.

 

"I yield," the redhead said, and Donna let her up.  The two women embraced briefly, and then the next Amazon approached Donna.

 

Philippus glanced at him when he paused beside her.  "Does watching this excite you?"

 

"Does it disappoint you that it doesn't?"

 

"I didn't know a man ever lived who didn't find naked women in each other's arms exciting."

 

"Depends on what they're doing in each other's arms.  I do know the difference between sparring and sex."

 

"Are you proficient in both?"

 

"I haven't had any complaints.  On either."

 

"Join us?  Unless you think we'll have complaints."

 

Dick wanted to talk to Donna, not spar with an endless stream of Amazon warriors.  How could he refuse Philippus's suggestion gracefully?  He watched Donna's opponent try to twist out of Donna's grasp and found a reason. "I don't know your style of fighting."

 

Donna held her opponent fast and called, "Come on, Dick, you and me.  It's been a long time since we played war games."

 

"It's been a long time since the Titans were together," Dick replied.  It felt oddly natural to remove his belt and chiton for the bout. The influence of his paternity must be stronger now that he knew the truth.

 

When he started to remove the cup, Philippus said, "Most men want to protect that."

 

"There's not a cup in the world strong enough to withstand a direct hit from her, and I'd rather not have chunks of plastic embedded in my body, thanks."  Dick didn't add that he trusted Donna completely.  If Philippus had eyes, she'd see that soon enough.

 

"Who's attacking?" Donna asked as he took his place opposite her.

 

"Let's decide the old-fashioned way."  Dick held out his hands for Rock, Paper, Scissors.

 

"Scissors cut paper.  I attack," Donna said.

 

"You used to always go with rock."

 

"Tied with you too many times."

 

Before she'd finished her sentence, Donna lashed out with a right cross.  Dick dodged, and then he was lost in the movements he knew so well.  Feint, strike, parry, kick, no pattern, keep your partner off balance.  He'd done this dance, or variations of it, since he was ten, though never before had he done it naked. 

 

"I thought only Greek men competed naked," he said, slipping out of Donna's grasp. "You Amazons holding out on the rest of us?"

 

"Mostly only Greek men competed at all." Donna lunged for him, and he somersaulted beneath her reach and past her.

 

His foot connected hard with her thigh. "Just thinking the Olympics would draw lots more fans if everyone competed naked."

 

"A photographer's dream. Even more than you are." She vaulted into the air, and Dick appreciated again that Donna only ever held back just enough to keep from actually damaging him.  Her enhanced strength and speed made for the best workouts he'd ever had.

 

"I didn't know you were into the kinky stuff." Without his Nightwing gear, he couldn't easily attack while she hovered, so he waited and watched for her next move.

 

Donna dove for him, fast, intending to literally bowl him over. "Photos are not kinky."

 

He rolled with it, catching her wrists and throwing her backward over his head as he did. "Depends on what's in the photos, doesn't it?"

 

" _Those_ photos are for private viewing only." She recovered and closed to grapple.

 

"Going to have to arrange one."

 

Donna had been on Themyscira too long, Dick decided. She was reverting to the Amazons' standard fighting tactics -- which, despite his earlier declaration to Philippus, he knew well. He'd been the one to guide Donna out of those tactics when she was younger, and Diana had never fully left those tactics behind.

 

Which meant he had one chance, the slightest of openings he'd seen once while studying films of Bruce and Diana sparring at the Justice League headquarters. It required an improbable twist that would leave his arm in traction for a week if he failed, but Donna wouldn't expect it and shouldn't be able to counter it.

 

"Rather arrange a private --" Donna began. Dick ducked, twisted, grabbed her wrist with one hand, elbow with the other, and dug fingers into her ulnar nerve. "--show--oof!"

 

Dick adjusted his hold slightly, dug in harder, trying to press nerve against bone. Donna might be an Amazon, but she still had human nerves, and nerve holds were the single best way to immobilize her.

 

"It hurts."

 

"Like a deep massage -- isn't that what you said once?"

 

"I mean it _hurts._ "

 

He let her go immediately, and she knelt there, rubbing her wrist.

 

"Donna?" Dick squatted beside her. "My ego's not that fragile."

 

"My wrist apparently is." She didn't seem angry, only surprised.

 

He took her arm in his hands, began to massage it. "I'm only human. I'm not strong enough to hurt you. Not really."

 

"You weren't," Donna corrected quietly. "What happened, Dick?"

 

That, he thought, was an excellent question.

 

=X=

 

Dick silently followed Donna to a lagoon on the northwestern side of the island.  It had a grotto, she said, where they could talk privately as they washed off the sweat from their workout.  All the things he'd wanted to talk with her about faded to the background in light of the revelation of his new strength.  He now had to learn how to use that strength.  And he couldn't stop wondering what other new abilities he might have.

 

He dropped his clothes on the ground and followed Donna into the lagoon.  The water was warmer than the ocean he'd walked in before, but still cool on his skin as he dove under the surface.  Beside him, Donna did the same and for a moment Dick simply enjoyed watching her movements, graceful and strong at the same time.

 

Then Donna broke the surface, and Dick's stomach clenched.  When he surfaced, she'd want to talk, to know what had happened, and he didn't know how to begin, much less what to say once he had begun.  So he remained underwater, leaking oxygen from his lungs as slowly as possible as he swam lazy circles around her.

 

Finally, breathing became a demanding necessity, his lungs aching, and Dick kicked toward the surface, gulping air as soon as he felt the breeze on his face.

 

Donna trod water until he was breathing normally before asking, "Are you done avoiding the conversation?"

 

"I have a choice?"

 

"Not really."

 

"Then I'm done." 

 

Dick swam toward shore, sat in the shallows with water lapping against his chest.  Donna swam closer but chose to remain in slightly deeper water, floating.  Now that she'd gotten his agreement, she was silently encouraging.

 

There was no way to ease into the discussion, Dick decided, so he plunged in.  "Apollo's my father."

 

"That's ni -- _what_ did you say?"

 

"Apparently, my parents were having trouble conceiving, and my mom prayed so hard that Apollo answered."  It was indicative of just how strange his life had been that the words sounded normal to his ears.

 

Donna recovered quickly.  "That would explain the strength, then.  All the demigod heroes were stronger than normal, Heracles being the strongest of them all."

 

"It also answers my original question, but at the same time raises a whole bunch of others."

 

"Like what?"

 

"Like what other abilities do I have?"

 

"The demigods were all stronger, faster, and braver than regular people. And they can enter the realms of the dead and mediate between mortals and the gods."

 

"Is that all?"

 

Donna laughed. "Isn't that enough?"

 

"Of course," Dick assured her. "It's just -- I heal as quickly as I ever did. Apollo said that's because he's lord of healing. What else might I have, too, because of him?"

 

"Well." Donna swam closer, sat next to him. "Apollo is lord of truth, so you might have some sensitivity to that. And he rules prophecy and music -- don't I remember you playing the guitar?"

 

"A long time ago. And if I can skip the prophecy thing, so much the better. But what I was wondering is, what are the implications of the healing? Am I -- immortal?" Before Donna could answer, he said, "No, I can't be. He said he hadn't expected to see me outside of Elysium."

 

"Certain demigods had other abilities. Heracles, of course, eventually joined his father on Olympus. Which isn't what you asked." Donna wrung water from her hair. "The answer to your question is, I don't know. It may be that you won't die of natural causes, but you can be killed. He didn't say?"

 

"I didn't ask. I was a little overwhelmed."

 

"You? Overwhelmed? Say it isn't so." Donna's voice was light, teasing, and Dick laughed in response. Then she studied him. "Is that bothering you, that you might live a long time without aging?"

 

"The same way it bothered you," Dick replied.

 

"Touche… Would it help if I said you'll get used to it?"

 

"Do you?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Then no, but thanks for the offer." It was natural to pull her closer, to have her lean against him, both comforting and comforted. "I suppose I'll have to ask him, next time I talk to him."

 

"You're going to talk to him again?"

 

"Of course." To his own ears, Dick sounded as surprised as she had. "Why wouldn't I?"

 

"Like I said earlier, our prayers and rituals are to keep the gods from noticing us, not to invite their attention. Why would you invite his attention if you didn't have to?"

 

It was a good question, and Dick considered it carefully. In the end, there was only one answer he could give, "Because we're family, and I think he needs that."

 

"Because the Olympians aren't enough of a family?"

 

"Because they're not really family, not like the Titans were, or my Gotham family. The Olympians are all dysfunction, no function. He needs a functional family." He paused. "And maybe I do, too."

 

"I'm sorry I left you." Donna's voice was quiet and sad, and he pulled her into a hug.

 

"You did what you thought you had to do," he told her softly. "And I understood. Even though it hurt, I never blamed you for it."

 

"Never?"

 

"Never. In fact, I almost didn't come here. I didn't want to hurt you."

 

Her arms tightened around him. "I'm glad you came."

 

Dick pressed his lips against her neck and rested there for long moments. She wasn't going to like what he said next, and he wanted to cherish this closeness before he broke the mood.

 

Her fingers slipped into his hair, and she scratched his scalp lightly, and he had to speak before she went further. "Some of the questions aren't as easy as what's going to happen to me."

 

"What questions?"

 

Dick let out a breath as he straightened to look at her directly. "Are we choosing each other because we're -- safe? Because we think we'll have more time together?"

 

Donna was silent for long moments. Dick wanted to believe that was a good thing, but her expression was unreadable. Finally, she gave him a soft smile. "We've loved each other for almost ever, haven't we? We've just never chosen which particular nuance of the word we meant."

 

"And you think it's time we do?"

 

"I don't want to rush the choice, Dick. Because whatever nuance we choose, it'll have echoes for a long time. I want them to be good ones."

 

"They will be."

 

"How can you be so sure?"

 

"Because we do love each other. We've already gone through more than most people would in ten lifetimes, and we still love each other. Whatever nuance we choose."

 

Donna relaxed against him. "Thank you."

 

"I think the choice is a process more than a one-time thing," Dick said carefully, absently stroking her back. "We'll refine it over time."

 

"So we don't have to choose right this minute."

 

"Not if you have something else to do right this minute."

 

"Oh, I can think of lots of things to do right this minute." Her hands cupped his shoulders, stroked down his arms.

 

"Who am I to stop you from doing them?" Dick grinned as she pushed him gently down against the soft earth. Whatever they chose to be now, it would be okay.

 

=X=

 

"If we keep this up," Dick murmured a long time later, "we'll both have sunburn in inconvenient places."

 

Donna chuckled and snuggled deeper into his side. Dick wrapped his arm around her, enjoying the closeness and the soft scent of her hair. At some point, they'd have to join Hippolyta for dinner, and he wanted to talk to Io the sculptor, but for now he could savor this new but oddly familiar quiet with Donna.

 

"Stay with me a while," she murmured.

 

"Tonight? Of course," he teased, then flinched when she found a ticklish spot under his ribs.

 

"Ha, ha. I meant while you deal with things." Including our choice. The words were unsaid, but Dick thought them as obviously as she did.

 

"It's a very tempting offer." Dick smiled when his fingers brushed sensitive skin and she gasped. "I want to. Really."

 

"But?"

 

"But there's only a week before Damian's wedding, and I promised I'd be there."

 

"Damian's getting married?" Donna rose up onto one elbow to stare down at him.

 

"Yep." He grinned. "Feisty courtship, too. Took a few years."

 

"Who'd marry him?"

 

"Lian."

 

"Lian -- Harper? Roy's daughter?"

 

"You know your face can freeze like that. Yes, Roy's daughter." Dick tugged her back down. "It was funny, actually. Damian started out like the snot he's always been. I've been trained for years, blah blah blah. Lian cut him off with, yeah, but my mom would kill you before you knew she was there. And we won't even talk about my dad and ranged weapons."

 

Donna laughed. "That must've been fun to watch."

 

"It was. Not so much when she had to tell Roy she was pregnant and who the father is. I had to convince him not to kill the little snot."

 

"If only for the baby's sake, right." Donna's voice had taken on a note of sadness. "I miss her, you know? I miss being Auntie Donna."

 

"Then come with me."

 

"What?"

 

"To the wedding."

 

Donna's eyes lit, but her expression faded almost immediately. "I don't know, Dick. We got pretty distant, there at the end."

 

"But you're Auntie Donna. I'm sure she'd love to see you, especially on her wedding day."

 

"It's been so long… fifteen years. More."

 

"No time like the present. Look, Donna --" Dick tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes -- "I know more about distant relationships than most people, and I know it's only too long if you let it be."

 

"I'm hopelessly out of touch with modern fashions."

 

"So you go shopping when we get back. Are you done making silly excuses?"

 

"I should say no, just to see how many you can refute."

 

"All of them."

 

Donna laughed. "You probably could." She let out a breath. "Okay, I'll be nervous, but I'll go."

 


	4. Home

It was times like these, Dick thought, when Wayne Manor was at its best -- when the talk and laughter of guests filled the big, empty mansion and spilled onto the grounds. On this sunny June afternoon several hundred people had gathered for Damian's wedding, himself and Donna included.

 

Unlike most of those guests, however, he and Donna had access to the rest of the house, including the rooms set aside for the bride's preparation. He gave Donna's hand a reassuring squeeze, waiting until she smiled before knocking on the door.

 

His knock was answered with an irascible, "How many times do I have to tell you? You don't get to see her until she walks down the aisle."

 

The door opened, and Dick grinned at a flummoxed Roy Harper. "Exactly none, since I'm not the groom."

 

Roy snorted. "If you weren't old enough to be her father, I'd wish you were." Then his eyes widened. "Donna?"

 

"Hi, Roy." Donna sounded hesitant. "I know it's been a while --"

 

Whatever she was going to say was cut off on an exhale when Roy threw his arms around her. While they were distracted, Dick allowed himself a satisfied smile. It wasn't often he could give friends a moment of happiness, and he intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

 

"You look great." Donna sounded enthusiastic, and Dick forced himself not to notice the slight scarring along Roy's jaw that indicated he'd had cosmetic surgery. Donna wouldn't see it, and there was no reason to dampen their happiness.

 

"And you're even more beautiful than I remember," Roy said. "'Course, you have a reason. Dick there just won the genetic lottery."

 

"Healthy living," Dick said when Donna glanced at him.

 

"Yeah, jumping off roofs is so healthy," Roy said, then turned back to Donna. "But enough of him. You wanna see Lian? Maybe you can talk her out of this."

 

Dick lingered in the hallway while Roy led Donna inside, barely grinning when he heard a squeal that hadn't changed much since Lian was two. Roy's offhanded comment about winning the genetic lottery had reminded Dick of all the people he knew and cared for who didn't know the truth about his aging. In fact, a large number of those people were gathered today to watch the joining of the Bat clan and the Arrow clan.

 

He'd never do anything so gauche as to tell them here and now -- today belonged to Damian and Lian. But it was a good time to think about those connections, those ties, and who he felt could handle the burden of his truth.

 

The door opened again and Roy joined him. "Testosterone not wanted in there. My grandson excepted."

 

"Teddy's only four. He can't have that much testosterone."

 

"He's still a Harper -- he's got plenty. And maybe a little from the Wayne side, too."

 

"So the reunion's going well?"

 

"Well enough we may have to delay the ceremony." Roy perked up. "Hey, I should go tell them now, so they won't worry."

 

Dick caught the other man's arm to stop him from doing just that. "Donna won't let them delay it too long. You know that."

 

"I can hope. How'd you manage to get her to come, anyway? I thought she'd retired and gone home?"

 

"I was working on a case and needed her help." And Dick realized how little he was willing to share just now. At least with Roy. The thought hurt. Roy had been his friend almost as long as Donna had, but something -- perhaps Apollo's sense of truth? -- told him that Roy wouldn't be honestly happy at his good fortune.

 

Who else wouldn't be?  Or, more importantly, who _would_ be?  Who would -- could -- he share his life with now?

 

Roy waited, but when Dick didn't volunteer anything more about his 'case,' the other man clapped him on the shoulder.  "Whatever it was about, I'm glad you convinced her to come.  One bright spot in the day."

 

The door opened again, and Donna emerged, smiling even as she dabbed tears from her eyes.  "As soon as they get Lian's makeup fixed, she'll be ready."

 

"Then we should find seats," Dick said.

 

"Save a dance for me," Roy told Donna, and she nodded.

 

When Roy had rejoined his daughter, Donna slid her arm through Dick's.  "You were right."

 

"It happens."  Dick led her toward the stairs.  "On occasion."

 

"More often than that."  Donna paused at the top of the stairs.  "Are you all right?  You seem … distracted."

 

"Just thinking.  We'll talk later, okay?"

 

"I'll hold you to that."

 

=X=

 

Who he could tell about his new status occupied Dick's mind throughout the ceremony and the aftermath of bouquet and garter throwing, first food and drink as a married couple, and toasts from the wedding party.  Then the couple's first dance began, and Dick escorted Donna onto the dance floor.

 

"All right, what's bothering you?"  Donna's question was accompanied by a dig of her fingernails into the back of his hand.

 

"Ow.  What was that for?"

 

"To get your attention.  And don't say I had it, because I asked you twice before and you didn't hear me."

 

Dick flexed his hand and guided her into a twirl to buy himself a few seconds to collect his thoughts. 

 

"I'm thinking about my new … status," he said when she was close in his arms again.  "Who can I tell?  Who do I want to tell?  And what do I want to do with it?"

 

"Why wouldn't you tell people? Like Tim and Damian?"

 

"I have to tell them."  A grin quirked his mouth.  "Having a permanent seat on the board of directors just took on a whole new meaning.  Damian will hate it.  So will his grandfather."

 

"And Roy?"

 

"Not yet."  Dick frowned when the response came quickly, traced it back to its source in his gut.  "I need a plan before I tell him."

 

"It sounds weird that you want a plan for telling your friends.  They love you.  They'll be happy for you."

 

"Mostly."

 

"What?"

 

"Mostly," Dick repeated.  "But not completely.  You heard Roy's comment earlier, about winning the genetic lottery.  Some of them will be jealous, too, and I have to be ready for the fallout from that."

 

Donna opened her mouth, presumably to object, then closed it and danced in silence, her expression thoughtful.  The music ended, and she made no move to leave the dance floor.  "You're right," she said as the band struck up the next song.  "I hate to admit it, but you're right."

 

Dick guided her into the next dance.  "It's the opposite of you withdrawing so you wouldn't have to watch people die.  Some people won't want to age while I -- while we -- don't."

 

"Right again. I'm not liking this trend."  Then she laughed.  "We should start a support group."

 

"Support group?"

 

"Sure, why not?  I mean, there are several of us -- you, me, Clark, and Diana come to mind, and there are others.  We're going to face these issues, and having people who understand is a good thing.  The Amazons don't, not really.  They've been too removed from the world too long.  The rest of us, we're involved in the world, and we know each other.  We share … memories?  Experiences?  Just having someone to call and say, hey, this hurts, who'll say, I understand."  Donna let out a breath.  "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

 

"You want people to talk to … not immortals, necessarily, not if what Apollo said about Elysium is true.  But long-lived people."

 

"Yes, that's it exactly."

 

"It's something to think about," Dick agreed as the song ended. This time he escorted Donna off the dance floor. "But maybe not just now. I think Roy's ready to claim his dance."

 

"You know he's going to ask a ton of questions."

 

"And monopolize you the rest of the evening, if you let him."

 

"I won't. There are other people I want to talk to."

 

"Then enjoy yourself."

 

"You don't mind?"

 

Dick shook his head. "I'd planned to patrol tonight -- before I knew you'd be coming with me. I can do that, and you can find me when you're all talked out."

 

=X=

 

Dick perched atop Von Gruenwald Tower, only half paying attention to the streets below. After forty-odd years of Bat-work, patrols were mostly a formality. They served to reinforce the fear in the hearts of criminals and, though Bruce would've hated the thought, the legend of Gotham's cloaked protector.

 

He freely admitted, at least to himself, that tonight's patrol, while Damian and Lian celebrated the love that only they fully understood, was born from an ingrained superstition. Dick had seen too many happy events interrupted by violence, and tonight's festivities would not join that roster. Not if he could help it.

 

He'd also admit, more reluctantly, that tonight's patrol served another purpose. It allowed Donna time to catch up with friends without guilt while simultaneously giving him time to think.

 

"And here I expected you to be stopping a bank robbery or foiling a jewel heist."

 

Dick looked up as Donna descended to land beside him. "Foiling? People still use words like that?"

 

"Foil is a good word, and it deserves better than to be stuck behind aluminum."

 

"What about fencing?"

 

"It can stay with fencing," Donna allowed. "That's got a long and noble history, too. Aluminum's just … well, the only thing going for it is that it's fun to say. So -- no active cases?"

 

"Nothing major at the moment. We're in a lull between the Infantino mob and whoever's coming next. No more homegrown gangs, though. They know better."

 

"Boring night, then."

 

"You were wrong, you know," Dick said as Donna settled beside him.

 

"About what?"

 

"You're not looking for a support group.  You're looking for a family.  Just like I am."

 

"I suppose I am," Donna said eventually.  "Like the Titans were.  Or even your Gotham family, though a little less dysfunction would be good."

 

"No promises.  Every family's dysfunctional in its own way."

 

"That's not all you've been thinking about, is it?"

 

Dick chuckled.  "You know me too well.  No, I've been thinking about his gift."

 

"Whose -- Damian's?  I thought you said you deeded him the manor?"

 

"Not Damian's.  Apollo's.  He offered me one gift."

 

Donna frowned. "You know the old saying, beware Greeks bearing gifts?  It didn't originate with the Trojan War. It originated with our gods."

 

"I remember Midas."

 

"Just be careful what you ask for, okay?  Careful in your choice, careful in your words.  It's Apollo, and he's less capricious than most, but --"

 

"Donna."  Dick cut her off before she could lecture.  "I have an idea, and I want your thoughts on it."

 

"Oh.  Okay, sure."

 

Dick took a breath, let it out slowly, part of him hoping to hear a cry for help.  This was what he'd been thinking about -- not the idea itself, but how to broach the subject with Donna.  But she wouldn't pry, now that he'd asked for her input, and that meant that he couldn't get defensive and refuse to talk when she did.  He was good at deflecting questions, but not as good at ignoring honest interest.

 

"Definitely know each other too well," he muttered.  To her inquiring glance, he said, "We've been talking about family, and not being alone.  What if I used the gift to make sure neither of us ever would be?"

 

Donna raised an eyebrow at him.  "Joining us at the hip like Siamese twins would make it awfully hard to fight the bad guys.  It would also make sex a lot more interesting."

 

"That was an image I didn't need.  I mentioned Midas a minute ago, but I'm really thinking of a different story.  You remember the couple that shared their food with Zeus?"

 

"Baucis and Philemon.  A poor couple who shared their meager meal with Zeus and Hermes, after the wealthier citizens of the town had turned the gods away.  Zeus destroyed the city, and offered Baucis and Philemon a gift as reward."

 

"I didn't remember their names, but I do remember what they chose.  They wanted nothing more than that neither one should die before the other."

 

"And you're thinking of that for us?"

 

"We've been each other's lifeline and confidante so many times.  When you died, a large part of me died with you."  Dick turned to her, cupped her cheek in his gloved hand.  "Call me selfish, but I don't want to go through that again. And you said that you didn't want to watch me age and die."

 

Donna nodded, and Dick let his hand fall away.  "You don't have to decide right now, of course."

 

"It's an easy decision, Dick.  Yes."

 

"Yes?"  He hadn't expected agreement so quickly.

 

"Yes."  Donna smiled at him.  "Because whatever nuances we choose, I do love you."

 

Dick kissed her gently, then glanced eastward.  "Cape Carmine's the easternmost point in the city. Or nicest easternmost point, and it's not long until sunrise."

 

Donna laughed.  "So eager."

 

"Paranoid.  Not without reason."

 

"Do you think he'll answer?  Here, I mean?  It's not an active holy site for him."

 

"I think he will."  Dick stood and sighted the anchor for his first jump.  "And if he doesn't, I know a great all-night diner.  We'll go have breakfast."

 

"In costume?"

 

"I wasn't thinking naked, but you know, if you want to …" Dick grinned at her and dove off the roof, firing his jumpline as he did.  Donna's laugh followed him, and however long his life might be now, he had someone to share it with.

 

 


End file.
